


25. Improvement

by TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG



Series: Twinkstober 2020 [25]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: A+ Parenting, Alpha Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Assault, Bathing/Washing, Biting, But not really it's complicated, Canon-Typical Violence, Caring Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Coming Untouched, Crying During Sex, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dark Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Denial of Feelings, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Families of Choice, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Fingering, First Kiss, Gentle Sex, Geralt honey what are you doing, Geralt just wants to be called a good boy ok, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has a Praise Kink, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Tries His Best, Guilt, Hot Springs Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Needs a Hug, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Just fucking talk to each other guys, Kaer Morhen's Fanon Hot Springs (The Witcher), Knotting, Learning to enjoy sex, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Bites, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Character Death, Multiple Orgasms, Murder, Nightmares, Omega Jaskier | Dandelion, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Pack Dynamics, Panic Attacks, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Penetrative Sex, Pining, Possessive Behavior, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Eskel (The Witcher), Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Lambert (The Witcher), Protective Vesemir (The Witcher), Puppy Piles, Rape Recovery, Roach Has the Brain Cell (The Witcher), Sappy Ending, Sassy Jaskier | Dandelion, Scared Jaskier | Dandelion, Scars, Self-Hatred, Sex related Injuries, Sexsomnia, Sexual Slavery, Shame, Slow Burn, So much gratuitous bathing, Somnophilia, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Trauma, Trust Issues, Winter At Kaer Morhen, Wolf Pack, no beta we die like renfri, sort of mutual masturbation, these tags are a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:07:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 28
Words: 47,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27794332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG/pseuds/TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG
Summary: Twinkstober 2020Prompt: improvementGeralt is given an omega instead of coin as payment. Neither of them is particularly happy about it.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Twinkstober 2020 [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1923553
Comments: 1122
Kudos: 1646





	1. Chapter 1

"We don't mean to stiff you on the payment, Witcher. We just don't have the coin." The alderman gives Geralt a shrewd look. "My brother trades in... certain commodities. Maybe you could be persuaded to make use of that instead?"

Geralt barely restrains himself from rolling his eyes. He's been offered this before, people trying to save money by throwing whores at him instead. Most of the time it's just that - a scheme to save money. In this case though, it looks like it might be true. This place barely qualifies as a town after all.

"Hm."

The alderman takes him to one of the bigger buildings the village has to offer. It doesn't look like a brothel, Geralt thinks, but one never knows.

"Trade's not going well then?"

The man shakes his head. "People here are poor. We barely get by as it is, and these are expensive wares. Cost a pretty penny, you see."

"Why doesn't he move somewhere else? Novigrad?"

"He's a sentimental one. Attached to his home." He opens the door for Geralt and steps aside.

The first thing Geralt notices is the quiet. For a brothel, it's _unnaturally_ quiet, even for the time of day, it being barely noon. Then he's hit in the face by the smell, and it's only his training that keeps his knees from buckling.

 _Omega_.

The place absolutely reeks of them, many of them, and Geralt feels his lip curl. "What is this?"

The alderman hesitates. Smart. "Ah, you see, my brother, he-"

A door opens on their right, and said brother comes into view. "Ah, Tom," he says, smiling at his brother, "how'd the wraith thing go?"

The alderman - Tom - gestures in Geralt's direction. "All taken care of, thanks to this Witcher here. This is my brother, Lucas," he introduces, and Geralt cocks an eyebrow in greeting. "You see, we're a bit short on coin right now, so I offered the Witcher a look at your... wares."

Lucas is obviously not pleased with this, but one look at Geralt's broad shoulders and twin swords seems to be enough to discourage any protest. "That's alright, I suppose. Come along then."

He leads Geralt down a corridor, and back here the smell of omega is even stronger. The brothers are both betas, so it's not surprising that they aren't as affected by it, but Geralt has to curl his hand into a fist to keep from ripping open every single door they come across to get to the source of that frankly mouthwatering scent.

"What exactly is it you deal in?" It's dim back here, only a couple of oil lamps lighting the corridor. Not that that hinders Geralt from taking in every detail. It does mean the brothers have to squint a little though.

"Amusements, you might say," Lucas says, a smile in his voice.

"This isn't a brothel." It's a statement, not a question, and Geralt thinks he as a pretty good idea what is going on here. Slavery is technically illegal in Redania, but that doesn't stop people from skirting the laws.

"We merely provide a service, Witcher, same as you do."

Geralt's patience has worn thin. He grabs Lucas by the scruff of his neck and hauls him back with a snarl, slams him face first into the wall. "You think _slavery_ is the same as killing monsters?"

Lucas gives a rather undignified squeak, both at the rough handling and the proximity of the angry alpha Witcher at his back. "No, course not! It's just- That's all they're good for, innit?"

"Who's 'they'?"

The alderman seems to have found his courage, or at least some of it. "Male omegas, Witcher. They can't be bred, what else are people gonna do with them?"

Geralt wants to kill both of them. He doesn't often feel the true urge to kill humans, but this is proving to be quite the exception. "Show me," he growls, and lets go of Lucas.

The men continue on down the corridor, Geralt's hands curled into tight fists. The smell grows ever stronger, and when Lucas opens the door at the end of it, Geralt feels his lips curl back from his teeth. The room beyond is dimly lit, just a couple of candles, but it's more than enough for Geralt to see.

There are five omegas.

Five very scared omegas.

No, scratch that, four scared omegas, and one _furious_ omega.

Four of the boys - because that's what they are, barely of age, faces unblemished - all but sprint into the middle of the room, falling to their knees and bowing their heads. The fifth one - a little older - saunters to stand beside them, making a show of getting to his knees. He looks straight ahead, posture impeccable and proud.

 _Huh_.

"Why do you have them," Geralt grits out, taking note of how the younger ones flinch at the growl in his voice. One of them, a doe-eyed thing with golden hair, has a large bruise on his jaw. The leather of Geralt's gloves creaks as he tightens his fists.

"They're usually given to repay a debt. I'm a money lender. Fat lot of good it does me around here." Lucas sneers at the boys, and Geralt grits his teeth.

"Aren't you supposed to uphold the law," he asks the alderman, who has the audacity to just shrug.

"Times are hard, for everyone. People are happy to be rid of them if it means they have one less mouth to feed."

Geralt's gaze snags on the oldest boy. Unlike the others, he's watching Geralt, eyebrows drawn and a curiosity in his eyes that he has rarely seen directed at him from a human. He has a mop of brown hair, big, very blue eyes, and a defiant tilt to his mouth that almost brings a smile to Geralt's face.

Lucas seems to notice the way they're looking at each other, for he laughs and says, "Oh, you don't want that one, far too spirited. Almost bit my cock off last week."

The thought that this poor excuse for a man had his cock anywhere _near_ the omega makes something hot flare in Geralt's chest, and again his lip curls away from his teeth. The boy's eyes widen ever so slightly.

"He'll do," Geralt tells the men, and he doesn't miss the offended noise the boy makes.

Geralt is given a letter of ownership that he crumples in his fist, and he leaves with the boy in tow. Roach butts her head against him as he shoves the letter into one of the saddlebags, and Geralt lets himself breathe in the familiar scent of horse and leather to calm himself before he turns to face the boy.

"What's your name?"

The boy gives him a long, calculating look before saying, "What do you want my name to be? Lucas was fond of 'bitch'."

Something cold settles in Geralt's stomach.

"Your real name."

The boy cocks his head. There's a collar around his throat, Geralt realises, yet more ice creeping into his gut. "It's Julian," the boy says after a moment, "but I prefer Jaskier."

"I'm Geralt," he says in reply, unties Roach and starts walking. After a second, the boy hurries after him.

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere that isn't here."

"Well, no complaints from me then. Just wondering, since I'm not really outfitted for this." He waves a hand at the path in front of them, then at himself.

It's only then that Geralt actually looks at what Jul- no, Jaskier is wearing. A flowy shirt with a high, lacy collar, leggings and soft slippers. Nothing even remotely appropriate for being in the wild. "Why don't you have proper shoes?"

Jaskier rolls his eyes. "Didn't need them, did I? It's not like I was _going_ anywhere."

"Hm." He looks at the road for a moment, then back at the boy. "Can you ride?"

Jaskier gives Roach a dubious look but nods. "I can stay in a saddle, at least."

Good enough, Geralt decides, and wraps his hands around the boy's waist, lifting him up. Jaskier squawks in surprise. "We'll get you proper clothes in the next town." With that, he takes Roach's reins and leads her down the road and out of the village, more than ready to leave this shithole behind.

Jaskier is quiet for a long time, surprising Geralt more than a bit. He doesn't seem like the kind of person to whom silence comes easily. Finally he asks, "What are you going to do with me?"

"Don't know yet." Geralt doesn't tell him he has no fucking clue what to do with him. Witchers don't have... traveling companions. They _especially_ don't have omegas.

They continue on in silence a moment longer, then Jaskier asks, "What did you mean, 'he'll do'? Don't you think I'm pretty?" There's a hint of hurt in his voice, Geralt thinks.

"I think you're something of a spoiled brat. You won't like being on the Path with me."

Jaskier snorts. "I wouldn't call what happened to me being _spoiled_ ," he says bitterly.

"What would you call it?"

"Unofficially sanctioned rape?"

Geralt huffs a laugh, surprised. Yeah, that's accurate.

Jaskier sits a horse well enough, Geralt supposes, notices the boy tugging at his collar from time to time. Finally, he breaks the silence, asking, "Geralt?"

"Hm."

"Are you going to hurt me?" His voice is small, a hint of fear laced through it. The first time he has smelled fear on the boy, actually. Geralt grits his teeth.

"Not on purpose."

Again, Jaskier is quiet. Then he says, softly, "Well, that's something."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Backstory time!

Geralt stops them a couple of hours outside of the village when it starts getting dark. "We're making camp," he says, and when he looks up at Jaskier, the boy looks terrified for a second before he schools his face.

He busies himself with making a fire. Jaskier awkwardly slides off of Roach's back, then stands beside her, watching Geralt closely. When Geralt has finished with the fire, he walks back over to Roach and pulls down his bedroll and reaches into one of the saddlebags, pulling out some jerky wrapped in wax cloth. "Go sit by the fire," he tells the boy, and Jaskier obeys stiffly.

The fear scent is back, and when Jaskier kneels beside the fireplace and then leans forward onto his hands, the realisation of what he thinks is about to happen hits Geralt like a ton of bricks.

 _Fuck_.

"Jaskier," and the boy flinches at his harsh tone. Geralt closes his eyes for a moment, tries to calm himself and to ignore the quickly spreading stench of fear oozing out of the omega's pores. "I'm not going to fuck you," he says, as softly as he can, and Jaskier peeks back at him over his shoulder, eyes wide and distrustful.

"You're not?"

"No."

Slowly, so fucking slowly, Jaskier sits back on his heels again. "Oh," he says, but the distrust doesn't leave his gaze, and when Geralt comes over to the fire and drops the bedroll and the wrapped jerky next to it, he swallows thickly before closing his eyes and opening his mouth.

Geralt _growls_. He can't stop the noise from crawling up his throat at the sight, Jaskier's pink tongue glistening in the fire light as he sticks it out, and he swiftly takes a step back. " _Stop_ ," and gods, his voice sounds wrecked.

Jaskier blinks up at him, confusion in his eyes. His tongue still sticks out of his mouth, and a muscle in Geralt's jaw twitches. Finally Jaskier pulls his tongue back into his mouth. "I don't understand," he says quietly, looking up at Geralt, and his voice wavers ever so slightly, like he's about to start crying.

Geralt scrubs both hands over his face. Then, very slowly, he kneels down, leaving a good deal of space between them. Jaskier looks lost, he thinks. "I'm not going to fuck you, or make you suck me, or do anything you don't want. Your body is your own."

Jaskier blinks, once, twice. Then he bursts out laughing.

Geralt sits there, dumbfounded, as Jaskier keeps laughing, on and on, until tears are streaming down his face. It takes forever for him to calm down, his breath hiccuping as he giggles. Wiping at his face, he shakes his head. "Gods, you actually _believe_ that."

The Witcher frowns. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Because I didn't think you were _that_ oblivious. I'm an omega, Geralt. I don't _get_ a choice." All traces of his laughter are gone now, his eyes hard and his hands fisted in his lap. "None of us do. Why do you think places like that," he waves in the direction of the village, "exist? Because people value our bodily integrity?"

The thing is, Geralt knows this. Omegas are rare enough to be highly coveted, but numerous enough for the less morally inclined to treat them as little more than cattle. Add in the frenzy an omega's scent can send an alpha into... "You're right," he says quietly, and Jaskier's hands twitch in his lap. "I know-" _what it's like_ , he wants to say, because he does, he knows what it feels like to have all control over your body and your life taken away. But this isn't about him. "You're safe with me," he says instead.

Jaskier watches him for a long, long moment, until some of the tension bleeds out of him. "We'll see," he says quietly.

* * *

They eat in silence, jerky and nuts and some wild berries that grow along the edge of the clearing they're sitting in. By the time it's fully dark, the temperature has dropped and Jaskier is shivering in his thin shirt. Geralt throws some more wood on the fire and gets the big horse blanket he keeps for when it gets really cold.

"Here," he says quietly, holding it out to the omega. Jaskier looks suspicious for a moment, trying to puzzle out if there's a trick of some kind. Geralt just keeps holding the blanket, face impassive, and finally Jaskier pulls it from his grasp.

"Thanks." The blanket dwarfs him as he pulls it tight around his shoulders.

Geralt sits down again and lets his senses open. There's the general rustle of small animals in the underbrush around them, but nothing larger than a small deer. In the distance he can hear the faint howling of wolves, but far enough away for them to not be a concern.

Unfortunately, opening his senses also means opening himself up to _Jaskier_. His scent floods his lungs, wildflowers and sea salt, an odd but not unpleasant combination. Faintly, he wonders what he smells like to the boy.

"Why did you take me with you," Jaskier asks into the silence, and Geralt does _not_ startle. Witchers don't startle.

He looks up at the boy again to find him watching him, eyes half-lidded but intent. The fire paints strands of his hair golden. It takes Geralt far too long to come up with an answer, and when he does, he's certain it's not satisfactory in the slightest. "Don't know," he murmurs, "couldn't leave you there."

Something strange flickers over Jaskier's face before he smooths his expression again. "Alright." He shifts around a little, adjusts the blanket just so. Geralt's gaze snags on the metal of his collar as the fire light glints along the edge.

"Why were you there," he asks, and Jaskier looks up at him slowly. Considering.

"I used to be a bard," he says at length, looks down at his feet. "Travelled with my father. He played a shawm, I played the lute and sang." He's tense again, fingers curled tightly into the blanket, and Geralt has to push down the sudden impulse to hold him close, to comfort him. "We stopped in the village but there wasn't any coin to be made there. People are too poor." He sneers. "Well, everyone except Lucas and his brother."

Geralt sits and listens and wishes he had killed the men after all.

"My father... got drunk. Let himself be talked into a game of gwent." He chuckles, a sound entirely without humour. "He's abysmal at gwent. I knew what was going on when he won the first round, but why should he listen to his stupid omega son? He played again and lost, and then he insisted on two out of three." He looks up at Geralt again, his blue eyes flat with an old hurt. "Of course he lost. Lucas oh so graciously accepted me when my father couldn't pay."

Geralt can feel the bones in his hand shift as it tightens into a fist. "Where is he now?"

"Fuck if I know. Probably dead in a ditch somewhere. Hopefully." He bares his teeth, in a loose, feral approximation of a grin.

The Witcher waits until Jaskier's eyes start drooping. He insists the omega take the bedroll, which Jaskier agrees to with only minimal suspicion.

"If you wake up during the night and I'm not there, stay here. There are wolves in the woods." It's not a lie, technically, and if it keeps Jaskier in place, it's worth it.

When he's certain that the omega is deeply asleep, Geralt straps his swords onto his back, climbs into Roach's saddle, and rides hard for the village.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where that "Dark Geralt" tag comes into play.

It is near midnight when he arrives. The village is quiet, the lights extinguished. It might be abandoned for all anyone knows.

Geralt knows better.

Getting into the alderman's house is laughably easy, the lock on the backdoor breaking like so much spun sugar under his hand. There is only one heartbeat, and Geralt's dagger slides through skin and muscle and arteries as though it were butter. Geralt puts a hand over the man's mouth as he gurgles and leans away from the spraying blood, and it's over far too quickly.

Lucas has a room on the first floor of his "establishment", and Geralt finds an open window and climbs up. The omegas are asleep downstairs, Lucas drunk in his room, and Geralt quietly slides inside. Lucas doesn't even notice him, too full of wine and too secure in the knowledge that nothing could ever happen to him in his own home to pay attention.

Geralt winds an arm around the beta's neck, cutting off his airflow, and sinks his dagger into the table, by way of Lucas's hand. The man screams, or tries to, flailing hard for a second before the movement pulls on the dagger painfully. Then he goes limp in Geralt's grip.

"I'm going to let go now," he growls against the man's ear, satisfaction creeping through his veins as the other shivers and whimpers quietly. Slowly, Geralt loosens his grip and steps to the side, lets Lucas see his attacker. The man somehow manages to look both surprised and not.

" _You_! What- How-"

"Your brother is dead," Geralt says quietly, "and you will follow him soon."

"What?! _Why_?!" Lucas has started to shake, and Geralt is surprised he hasn't lost control of his bladder yet. He certainly smells terrified enough.

"For what you did to the omegas. To Jaskier."

The beta looks stunned for a second, and then, incredibly, he _laughs_. "Don't act like you're any better, Witcher," he spits. "You _took_ him."

"I _saved_ him," Geralt snarls, and Lucas laughs again.

"Sure you did. Bet you haven't thought about what that tight arse of his would feel around your knot even _once_ , have you?"

Geralt breaks the man's neck, just so, keeping him alive and aware. A handkerchief plucked off of the small table by the bed silences him.

It takes nearly an hour. The stench of blood and piss saturates the room, and Lucas's heart finally gives out when Geralt shoves his severed cock into his mouth.

The alpha inside Geralt purrs. _Well done_ , it says silkily, _protecting your omega like this._

That shakes Geralt out of his rage. His omega? What?

No. _No_ , that's _not_ what this is about.

It's _not_.

* * *

He drags what's left of Lucas out of the house. There's a lake not far off and he dumps the parts there, washes the blood off of himself quickly, then doubles back. The omegas are still fast asleep, and Geralt creeps into their room and wakes them, one by one, casting Axii to keep them calm. He cracks open their collars and gives the blond boy a pouch full of coin he found in Lucas's room, then sends them away, tells them to get out of Redania as fast as they can.

That done, he returns upstairs and finds the letters of ownership for the boys and shreds them into pieces. There is more money, so much money it makes him almost sick. He pockets it and picks up one of the oil lamps, turning to the door. That's when he sees it.

On a hook next to the door hangs a lute.

Geralt hadn't noticed it before, distracted as he was. Now he doesn't notice anything else. He steps closer and lifts it off the hook carefully, his fingers sliding over the polished wood.

It smells faintly of Jaskier.

* * *

The house catches fire almost immediately.

* * *

It's the quiet pre-dawn hour when he makes it back to camp.

Jaskier is awake, sitting by the fire with his arms wound around his knees. He looks apprehensive when Roach steps into the clearing, and when Geralt slides off her back and turns his face towards the fire, the omega gasps and is on his feet in a flash.

"What happened?"

Geralt watches him silently for a moment. The boy's heart races in his chest, his eyes wide. He looks scared, but _not of him_. "Nothing. Try and get some more sleep."

Jaskier frowns, then seems to steel himself. He steps closer and raises his hand, and before Geralt can think about it, he has reached up and clamped his own hand around Jaskier's wrist. The boy hisses in pain but doesn't back down, and Geralt releases him. Jaskier still looks at him, wide-eyed. "There's blood in your hair."

 _Fuck_.

"Geralt, where were you? Whose blood is this?" If there was ever a time where Geralt would expect the boy to smell afraid of him, this would be it. But he doesn't.

He _doesn't_ smell afraid.

Geralt doesn't answer. He doesn't trust his voice right now. Instead he tugs Roach a little closer by her reins, then turns and unties the lute from her saddle.

When he turns back and holds it out to Jaskier, it seems like the whole forest around them hushes, like every creature holds its breath, waiting for Jaskier's reaction.

The omega stares. Then he says, "That's my lute."

Geralt hums.

Jaskier's hand moves, as if to touch, but he pulls it back almost as quickly. His eyes dart up to Geralt's face, so wide and confused. Geralt steps closer and pushes the instrument into Jaskier's arms, and the omega whines pitifully.

He cradles the lute like a child, pressed against his chest, and he's staring at Geralt, awed. He smells honey-sweet and happy, and Geralt's alpha purrs again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd just like to take a moment and thank all of you. The response to this has been a little overwhelming tbh and I love each and every one of you.

"Did you kill him," Jaskier asks later, when they're back on the road. He's on Roach again, idly strumming his lute, and it grates much less on Geralt's nerves than he would have thought.

"Both of them," he replies, watching the boy carefully for his reaction.

Jaskier smiles, the same feral smile he'd worn when he'd expressed his hope that his father was dead. "What about the others?"

The other omegas, he means. "Gave them some money and sent them on their way. If they're smart, they can make it."

The boy scoffs. "Waste of money, then. They'll be caught before the day is out, wearing their collars."

Oh. _Right_. "I took them off," he says quietly, and Jaskier's head whips around. He stares down at Geralt for a long moment, and the silence stretches, stretches like molasses, thick and uncomfortable.

"Oh," he says finally, "I see."

He should offer to take Jaskier's collar off. It would be easy.

He doesn't, and he doesn't know why.

* * *

They reach the next village two days later, and Geralt buys proper clothes for Jaskier. The omega keeps the frilly shirt, but he adds a doublet and trousers - sturdy but handsomely made, red and blue that brings out his eyes - and well-made boots.

"How do I look," Jaskier asks when he steps out from behind the privacy screen, arms spread wide and a roguish grin on his face that is quite at odds with the chill that has crept between them during the last two days.

 _Handsome_ , Geralt thinks. _Precious_ , whispers his alpha. "Fine," is what he says before he turns away. Geralt pays with Lucas's coin.

The village has a small inn, with just two rooms. As they enter the common room, Jaskier leans closer than he has since the clearing. "Would you mind if I played? Might get us a lower rate."

"Knock yourself out," he says gruffly, and Jaskier smiles and leads the way.

"Good day, my lady!" Jaskier leans on the bar, smiling brilliantly at the innkeeper, a squat older woman with watery blue eyes, who squints back at him suspiciously.

"What d'ya want?"

Jaskier hesitates for a second, caught off guard by her gruff demeanour, but then he pulls himself together again. "We're in need of a room, you see, my companion and I, and I was wondering if we could come to some sort of mutually satisfactory arrangement." He pulls his lute to his front, fingers gliding over the strings. "I'm a bard, you know, and I thought I could maybe offer your charming patrons some entertainment this evening, and maybe in exchange you could throw in dinner for us." He smiles brilliantly, hopeful.

The woman turns her eyes on Geralt, squinting harder somehow. "You alright with that?"

He stares back at her. "Why wouldn't I be?"

She looks at Jaskier again, cocks an eyebrow as she taps a finger against her throat. Jaskier's hand flies to his own, to the collar.

 _Oh_.

"He's your omega, I don't want trouble with an angry alpha, and a Witcher one at that, when the little chit steps out of line."

Jaskier has gone very still beside him, hands tight around the lute. He smells furious.

"He can do whatever he wants," Geralt says, holding the woman's gaze, and her eyebrows rise.

"Oh, you're one of those _liberal_ alphas, are ya? Well, that's your business, I suppose." She produces a key from underneath the bar and points them to the back of the house. "Door on the right. You can play if you want, boy, been a long time since a bard came through here. Dinner'll be on me if you're any good."

Jaskier gives her a tight-lipped smile, then walks off in the direction she had indicated. Geralt wordlessly takes the key and follows.

The room has a wide bed, a hearth, and a table and one chair. Jaskier makes a face for half a second before he smooths his features. "Cozy."

"It'll do." Geralt takes off his cloak and sword belt, sets them by the bed. "When do you want to go play?"

Jaskier squints out of the window. "Maybe an hour? When it starts getting dark."

"Try and get some sleep until then. You look dead on your feet."

Jaskier goes rigid for a second, his scent spiking anxiously, before he takes a deep breath and pulls his lute strap over his head. "Right." He carefully places the instrument on the table, then shrugs out of his new doublet, folding it. "I'll just..." He waves a hand at the bed, teeth worrying at his lower lip.

"Jaskier," Geralt says, because he can see where this is going. The boy flinches, shoulders rising towards his ears. Geralt wants to take him into his arms, scent him, reassure him. Instead he says, "I'm not going to do anything to you, I promise."

Jaskier gives him a dubious look. "I-" He's rubbing thumb and forefinger of his right hand against each other nervously. "I thought maybe you just wanted to wait until there was a bed."

Geralt closes his eyes, just breathing for a moment as an odd pain lances through his chest. When he opens them again, Jaskier is staring down at his boots. "I meant what I said." He's not going to force himself on the omega, even if he knows the boy would probably let him with minimal protest. But he can hear the echo of Lucas's words in his head, the accusation that he's no different than any of the alphas who use omegas like this. He's _not_ , he can't be, he was made to be stronger than that.

He was made to protect, and that's what he'll do.

"Sleep," he says quietly, and Jaskier's eyes flicker in his direction, his shoulders lowering slowly, and finally he turns his back on Geralt and kicks off his boots before he lies down on the bed. Geralt takes another deep breath and rubs at the bridge of his nose.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mention of past food deprivation

Jaskier does sleep, if fitfully. Geralt sits in the chair, watching the slow rise and fall of the boy's back, watches how he's curled up on his side, knees pulled against his chest protectively. It's pitiful, child-like, and Geralt's alpha wants him to curl around the omega and keep him safe, no matter what.

That's not his place, though.

Not for the first time in the last few days, Geralt wonders how exactly it could come to this. Him, with not just a traveling companion, no, but one who is an _omega_. A no doubt traumatised, angry omega who doesn't trust him but also, _somehow_ , does. It's all too complicated, he doesn't know how to handle this. Vesemir or Eskel, they would know.

Witchers have no need for secondary genders, he'd been taught. They were almost always alphas, yes, but since they were all sterile, that was irrelevant, the superior strength being an alpha brings with it the only exception.

Geralt snorts quietly, thinking back to Jaskier's sweet scent when he'd given him the lute, to the way his alpha had preened and purred. To the rage that made him kill the brothers, that had made him do the things he did to Lucas for having the audacity to touch the omega. So the whole gender business seems to fall into the same category as the "Witchers don't have feelings" nonsense. It doesn't surprise him.

The sun is just dipping below the horizon when he gets to his feet and walks over to stand by the bed. Jaskier is still curled up on his side, his back to the room, and he's drooling into the pillow. _Omega_ , Geralt's alpha whispers, and Geralt grits his teeth. "Jaskier," he says quietly, touching the boy's shoulder, "wake up."

Jaskier does, slowly, rolling to his back and blinking up at Geralt groggily. Then he jolts, eyes going wide as he jerks, tries to sink into the mattress. Away from Geralt.

The Witcher takes a step back, holds up his hands, palms out. "Didn't mean to scare you," he says softly. Jaskier's heart races, the sharp tang of terror mellowing out somewhat as he comes fully awake. "The sun's going down."

"Oh." The boy's hands are gripping the sheets beneath him so hard his knuckles have gone white. "I- Sorry, I didn't expect-"

"Jaskier, it's alright." He takes another step back, away from the bed. "I'll be outside. Take your time." And with that, he turns and leaves the room, leaving Jaskier on the bed, looking bewildered.

Fuck. He should've anticipated it. Waking to find an alpha looming over him must be somewhere at the top of Jaskier's list of very bad things.

The common room of the inn holds a good size crowd already, and Geralt finds a table in one of the darker corners. The innkeeper brings him two tankards of so-so ale.

"Where's that bard of yours then?"

"Warming up. He'll be out in a minute."

"Hmm." She looks him up and down, then says, "You're him, aren't ya? The Butcher."

Geralt stiffens. He hasn't heard that name in a while, and could happily go to his grave without ever hearing it again. His silence seems to be answer enough for her.

"I don't know what happened up there but you seem like a decent enough fella. Not a single bruise on that boy anywhere I could see," and she says it like that is some sort of achievement.

"He's not my omega," he says gruffly, and her eyebrows rise.

"But the collar-"

"I'm- taking him somewhere. It's a job."

She squints at him, obviously not believing a word he's saying. No one entrusts an unbonded omega to a single alpha escort. "Right. Well." She toddles off then, uneasy now. Geralt closes his eyes and breathes.

A short while later, the door of their room opens and Jaskier steps out. He's wearing the blue doublet again, unbuttoned down to his chest, hair artfully tousled and cheeks a becoming pink. Geralt wonders if it's nerves or whether he pinched them to make them look like that. It's an old trick, one once taught to him in a whorehouse.

Something inside Geralt thrums at the sight, at the hair peeking out of the open collar of his chemise, the flushed face, the seemingly easy smile. He knows it's a facade, a performance. Artificial, for the benefit of his audience as he strums his lute to catch their attention.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, lend me your ear if you will? My name is Jaskier, and a bard am I. Our gracious hostess has allowed me to play for you on this fine evening..."

Geralt tunes out the rest of his little speech. He's too busy watching, transfixed by the practiced way Jaskier flits across the room, with a smile and a wink as he plays a nonsense melody before he segues into actual songs. He has a lovely voice, Geralt, who knows nothing about music, thinks, and when Jaskier's voice cracks around a single word during a love song, even he recognises the skill the boy possesses.

Jaskier is a whirlwind like this, drawing every eye. It's such a stark contrast to the cocky yet reserved and often scared omega Geralt has come to know these last few days.

He catches sight of the innkeeper through the press of bodies. She's leaning against the bar, arms crossed in front of her as she watches Jaskier, nodding her head in time with the music. Huh. Maybe they actually will get that free dinner.

Jaskier spots him after a while and smiles, wide and happy, cheeks flushed with exertion now. It's easy to pick out his scent, even in the mass of people, flowery and sweet with joy. For a brief moment, Geralt lets himself imagine what it would be like to bury his nose in the crook of Jaskier's neck, to bask in that scent directly at the source. He shudders, mouth watering at the idea, before he reins himself in again. _No_.

The bard winds down at some point, moving into quieter songs that have his audience clinging to their tankards wistfully, until he ends with a bow. "You have all been lovely, and I wish you a good night!" As he makes his way over to Geralt's corner, he is stopped every few paces, people pressing a coin into his hand or clapping him on the shoulder. By the time he reaches Geralt, he's glowing with pride, his hands overflowing with coins. "I forgot what that feels like," he says, pouring the money onto the table in front of Geralt. "What a rush!"

"Hm." Geralt sort of hides behind his tankard, watching the omega from the corner of his eye. He's sweaty, hair damp with it, and he lifts his own tankard to his mouth and drinks. Geralt watches his throat work as he swallows, until the glint of the metal collar sends a sour guilt down his gullet.

Jaskier sets down his drink and grins at him. "So, how did you like it?" Geralt just grunts in reply, and Jaskier huffs. "Come on, you must have some review for me. Three words or less."

Geralt looks at him for a long moment, at the startling blue of his eyes, the hopeful expression in them. _Make your omega happy_ , his alpha purrs, and Geralt grits his teeth. "It was fine." Jaskier's face falls, just a little, and Geralt adds, "I know nothing about music, Jaskier. It was... pleasant. You're good at this."

The omega looks at him for a long moment, then smiles, ever so faintly. "Nice to hear I'm good at something other than-" He cuts himself off, the corners of his mouth twisting downward.

Geralt knows what he was going to say, and he wishes he had taken his time more with Lucas.

"Anyway! Any news about our dinner arrangement?" The smile now is fake, tugging uncomfortably at his cheeks, and Geralt finds himself reaching for Jaskier's hand, to do what he doesn't know. Jaskier is looking in the direction of the bar so he doesn't notice, and Geralt snatches his hand back. What the _fuck_.

With the inn now slowly emptying, the owner has time to deal with them. She notices Jaskier looking, apparently, for she holds up a finger in his direction and disappears into a back room. When she comes back, she's balancing two bowls of stew and a loaf of bread on a tray.

"See, I knew this was a good idea," Jaskier murmurs out of the corner of his mouth, smiling at the innkeeper as she approaches. Geralt just barely stops himself from rolling his eyes.

The woman sets the tray down in front of Jaskier. "Good show, boy," she says, the hint of a smile tugging at her mouth even as she gives Geralt a wary look. "Enjoy your dinner."

Jaskier eats like a starving man, shoveling the stew into his mouth with little regard for manners. Geralt nudges him with his elbow, and Jaskier freezes. "Slow down, you'll make yourself sick."

The omega swallows his mouthful, then stares down at his bowl. "Sorry. It's just... Sometimes Lucas wouldn't feed us when he was angry. Guess it's become a habit to just stuff myself when I get the chance."

Geralt's spoon cracks in his hand, the wood splintering. He drops it on the table. Next to him, Jaskier flinches. Wordlessly, Geralt pushes his bowl over to him before he picks up the bread and tears off a chunk.

"Geralt, I couldn't-"

"Just go slow."

From the corner of his eye, he can see Jaskier staring at him, before the boy turns back to his stew. His cheeks are pink and he smells confused, but underneath is the honey sweet of happiness.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pure angst. Be warned.

"We should go to bed, the weather is going to turn and we likely won't get to any inns the next couple of days," he says when Jaskier is finished, and the sweet scent vanishes as soon as Geralt gets up, replaced by sudden anxiety.

"Oh. Alright."

The boy trails after him, all traces of the charming performer gone. It sits unpleasantly in Geralt's gut, and when they're back in the room and Geralt has lit the candle on the table, he narrows his eyes at him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." The answer comes too quickly, too forceful.

Geralt lets it slide for now. He's tired, and confused by his own feelings. None of this is supposed to happen.

He crosses the room and crouches by his pack, pulls the bedroll free. Jaskier makes a noise that Geralt can't interpret, and when he turns around, the boy is standing by the bed, doublet discarded and hands clasped in front of his stomach.

"I can do that myself," he says, looking at the floor.

Geralt has no idea what he's talking about. "Do what?"

"The- The bedroll. I can..." Jaskier trails off, eyes flicking up to Geralt's face for a second.

"Don't you want the bed," he asks, dumbfounded, and now Jaskier looks up at him, frowning.

"Don't _you_ want the bed?"

The Witcher rubs a hand over his face. He's too tired for this. "I'm not making you sleep on the floor."

"Well, neither am I! You paid for the room, I couldn't-"

"Technically it's not my money, so I really don't care."

Jaskier just looks at him for a long moment. Then the line of tension in his shoulders eases somewhat. "It's Lucas's money, isn't it?" When Geralt nods, a small smile flickers over the boy's face. Then he seems to steel himself. "We- We could share," he says haltingly. "Bed's big enough."

"You almost panicked back there when I said we should go to bed," Geralt says. "I know you don't believe me when I tell you that I won't fuck you." _Not unless you ask me to_ , he thinks, unbidden.

Jaskier's shoulders rise again, his hands twisting anxiously. "I'm sorry."

"Don't." His voice is too rough, too annoyed, he knows that, but he just can't deal with this any more. "Just... go to sleep. It's fine." He turns his back on the omega then, rolls out the bedroll and, after discarding his boots and jerkin and unstrapping his belt, slides inside.

The boy hovers for another long moment, then blows out the candle and crawls into bed. The silence settles over them, thick and tense, and Geralt doesn't sleep for a long time despite his exhaustion.

* * *

Jaskier screams, and Geralt is wide awake within half a second, hand reaching for his dagger.

The room is still dark, and there's only Jaskier's heartbeat, far too quick, his breath laboured, and then he gives another cry, followed by a whimper and a sob. There's the rustle of fabric, the thrashing of limbs, and Geralt's sleep-addled brain catches on.

A nightmare.

He drops the dagger and pushes himself out of the bedroll, getting to his feet. Jaskier is tangled in the covers, his face twisted in terror, and he whimpers again.

"No, please," he mumbles, mouth twisting, and Geralt feels a snarl tug at his mouth. Another whimper that sounds like, " _Stop_ ," propels him forward.

"Jaskier," he says, softly, "wake up."

The omega whines, high and distressed, flailing where he's stuck in the covers wound around his legs, and before Geralt knows what he's doing, he grabs both of the boy's wrists, holding him still so he doesn't hurt himself.

"Jaskier!"

He wakes, suddenly and all at once, eyes wide and panicked, and when he focuses on Geralt above him, holding his wrists, he screams, a proper scream, full of fear. It's like the way he had recoiled earlier, pressing himself into the mattress, only ten times worse. "No, _no, please,_ you said-"

Geralt drops his hands like he's been burned, and Jaskier scrambles backwards and away from him like a crab. He presses himself against the headboard, hands in his hair, shoulders curled up protectively.

"You said you _wouldn't_ ," Jaskier whimpers again, then bursts into fresh tears.

Fucking _shit_.

Geralt moves back, slowly, off the bed. "You were having a nightmare," he says, as gently as possible, which doesn't work all that well with his sleep-rough voice if he's being honest. "Do you remember? You woke me up."

"I'm _sorry_ ," Jaskier gasps, somehow crying harder, "I didn't mean to, _I swear, please_ -" He's breathing too fast, his eyes squeezed shut as he fights to get air into his lungs, and Geralt can't stay away, can't not do anything.

"Jaskier, listen to me," he says, kneeling beside the bed and holding out one hand. "You're panicking. You need to calm down or you will pass out. Listen to my breathing," and he demonstrates, in, then out, exaggerated so it will break through the fog of Jaskier's panic.

Finally, after what feels like a lifetime, Jaskier opens his eyes, then grabs his hand and stares at him, tries to breathe in time with Geralt. The grip on his hand is so tight, Geralt wonders for a moment if it would be enough to break a regular human's bones. When Jaskier can breathe easier, his heartbeat returning to somewhat normal, he nods, returns the grip of Jaskier's hand gently. "Good. You're doing so well," he says, and Jaskier hiccups and wipes at his face with his free hand.

"I'm sorry," he says again. His eyes are red, his face blotchy. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's alright," and really, it is. It's just... "You screamed. I thought someone was hurting you."

Jaskier's hand twitches in his. He doesn't say anything for the longest time, then he whispers, "Someone did."

Geralt wants to pull him into his arms, hold him close, keep him safe. He takes a deep breath. "Can I- Is it alright if I sit here?" He indicates the space beside Jaskier with his free hand, and after a moment, the boy nods.

He doesn't release Geralt's hand.

Geralt sits, leans back against the headboard. Their clasped hands rest on his thigh. After a while, he says, "If I could kill him again, I would."

Jaskier blinks at him, eyes wide.

"I'd make him suffer more." There's the hint of a growl in his voice, and he expects Jaskier to recoil, to cower. Instead the omega watches him curiously. Geralt turns his head to meet his gaze, and his eyes snag on the collar, glinting in the moonlight peeking through the window. "I should take that off you," he says quietly, and Jaskier jolts, back, away from him, and he adds, "The _collar_ , I meant- Ah fuck," and Jaskier stares at him, wide-eyed, before he bursts into a laugh.

Geralt cracks open the collar, and when he places it into Jaskier's hands, the omega stares at it, almost disbelieving.

"Thank you," he says quietly, and Geralt's alpha crows in triumph.

Jaskier curls up on his side again, fatigue dragging him down, and when Geralt moves to get up and return to his bedroll, Jaskier hums.

"Stay. It's fine."

So Geralt stays.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are good, and then they are very bad.

The weather does turn, as Geralt predicted, and they spend a couple of miserable days trudging through sopping wet forests.

Geralt would be lying if he said he doesn't enjoy the omega huddling close to him for warmth. Jaskier doesn't have a single nightmare, and Geralt's alpha purrs, proud. He doesn't, however, delude himself into thinking that it's born out of anything like affection or trust. They're just both wet and despondent, and Geralt is an alpha and Witcher both, meaning he exudes heat like it's his job, and Jaskier is freezing. That's the only reason.

After a week, they reach another village that is big enough to house an inn, and Jaskier makes such a happy noise at the prospect of a roof over his head and being dry that Geralt can't fight back his smile.

They arrive around noon, and Jaskier comes to the same arrangement as before. "With the rain, people won't really come here without incentive, will they? And what better incentive than music and merriment!" The innkeeper rolls his eyes but agrees, and Jaskier bows with a flourish and a roguish grin, and Geralt scowls at the top of the bar when the innkeeper laughs.

Up in their room, they peel off their drenched clothes - Geralt turning his back to give the boy privacy - and hang them over the hearth. Jaskier only has one other set of clothing, soft forget-me-not blue that he wants to save for his performance later, and Geralt pulls one of his sleeping trousers and an old shirt from his pack and hands them to the omega without comment.

When he turns back, Jaskier sits cross legged on one of the beds. He's positively swimming in Geralt's clothes, his too thin frame not having a chance to fill them out. Geralt's alpha _howls_ at the sight, _omega ours **only ours** scent mark bite **fuck** ,_ and Geralt bites the inside of his cheek so hard he tastes blood.

Jaskier's nostrils flare, ever so slightly, and he stiffens. The Witcher grits his teeth and flops down on his bed, back to the omega. The linens are old, worn soft with age, and he pulls the covers over himself. "Don't go anywhere," he tells Jaskier, and the boy scoffs and doesn't reply.

Geralt wakes later to the gentle sounds of the lute, accompanied by Jaskier's soft humming. Combined with the still pouring rain outside, it's very pleasant, and he lets himself drift a while longer, warm and dry for the first time in days. At some point Jaskier starts singing softly, slow and tentative, a song about pirates and sunlight, and Geralt opens his eyes and turns his head to watch him.

The omega still sits on his bed, the lute cradled in his lap as he sings, fingers strumming with practised ease. It had surprised him, that first time he heard him really play, that after however long he'd spent as a slave, he still played almost effortlessly. Geralt supposes it's muscle memory, the same way he doesn't have to think about how to swing his swords.

After a while, Jaskier notices him watching, his cheeks going pink. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's alright." He rolls onto his side, facing Jaskier. "What was that song?"

Jaskier fiddles with a peg, not looking at Geralt. "One of my own. It's a work in progress."

Geralt hums, then asks, "What's it called?"

Now the omega looks up at him, blue eyes twinkling in the candle light, and Geralt's heart thumps against his ribs. "Not yet."

* * *

Jaskier changes into his light blue outfit when the sun goes down, Geralt again turning his back. "I just hope people will actually show up in this horrid weather," the omega murmurs as he runs his fingers through his hair.

"We still have more than enough coin even if they don't," Geralt says mildly as he pulls on his boots again.

"I had been wondering about that, you know? You make money killing monsters, don't you?" When Geralt nods, he waves a hand between them. "You're not doing that now."

Geralt gets to his feet and ties his hair back from his face. "I don't have to. Lucas had... ample funds."

The omega picks up his lute. He's trying to look calm, but Geralt can hear his heart racing. "It's just... I don't want to be the reason you can't do your job."

"Don't worry about it," he says gently, then opens the door. "Ready?"

The performer's mask slides into place, and Jaskier grins at him. "I was _born_ ready."

* * *

The audience is bigger than Geralt would have anticipated, although he thinks that is mostly down to the decent beer the innkeeper sells. People seem to enjoy Jaskier's music anyway, it appears, and they ask for no less than three encores.

When Jaskier finally bows out, his fringe is plastered to his forehead with sweat and he's again grinning from ear to ear.

It's odd, Geralt thinks, that this man who is so easy to unbalance with an imagined threat is able to dazzle the crowds like this, to look so self-assured and confident. The bard plops onto the bench next to him. His elbow bumps into Geralt's bicep on his way down.

"Oh, that exceeded expectations! I didn't think so many people would be here!"

"You played well," Geralt murmurs, and Jaskier _giggles_.

"I did, didn't I?" He reaches for Geralt's tankard, unthinkingly, then catches himself. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

Geralt pushes the tankard over. "It's fine, take it. You must be thirsty. I'll get a new one."

Jaskier smirks as he picks up the tankard. "Oh, so I get your discarded beer and you get a fresh one, huh?" Geralt cocks an eyebrow, and Jaskier giggles again. "Ooh, _scary_ face. Well, go then, before you die of thirst."

Geralt shakes his head and gets to his feet. Unbelievable.

When he comes back, Jaskier is talking to a man. An alpha from the looks of it. Geralt's hackles rise, but he clamps it down. It's no use. Besides, Jaskier seems alright, all easy smiles and laughter at something the man says.

Then the man takes Jaskier's hand, strokes the pad of his thumb over Jaskier's fingertips.

Geralt sees red.

He's across the room in a heartbeat, his tankard crashing to the floor. His hand wraps around the man's palm, and there's a satisfyingly loud _pop_ as he bends it backwards all the way to the man's arm and twists. A second later the man screams. Geralt shoves him away from the table, and the man goes without resistance, cradling his broken wrist.

Geralt's hand is at his throat, fisted in the collar of his shirt as he slams him into the wall. The pungent odor of piss reaches his nose, and when he looks down, the man has wet himself. _Good_ , comes the vicious hiss of Geralt's alpha.

"If you want to keep your fingers, you'd do well to keep them to yourself," he growls. The man's eyes are wide, pupils dilated in fear, and he whimpers.

There's a hand on Geralt's arm, tugging, and when he looks, he realises it's Jaskier.

Jaskier, whose face is entirely blank but who _reeks_ of fear. "Let him go," he says, voice trembling just the slightest bit. Geralt is sure nobody else even notices. "Please," he breathes, and Geralt drops the man. He gives a cry as he hits the floor, and the fog, the single-mindedness that had taken hold of Geralt vanishes.

He stares back at Jaskier, at the omega's hand on his arm.

Everyone is staring at him, frozen in terror.

Geralt wrenches his arm out of Jaskier's grip and runs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Sing me awake with a song about pirates  
>  And I will try to harmonise  
> And sip the sunlight from your eyes  
> Oh sing me awake  
> With all the things we’ll do today  
> But instead we’ll build a den  
> Out of pillows and get drunk again_
> 
> _Hold my hand  
>  As you shook in the middle of the night  
> Without waking you said  
> Not yet not yet _


	8. Chapter 8

Night has truly fallen when Geralt returns to the inn. He's not much calmer after essentially trudging through the woods trying very hard not to think about what he did, but it's cold and wet and he's worried about Jaskier.

The common room is empty and silent, no trace of the scene he made left to the casual eye. Sure, he can still smell the stench of piss and the man's terror, but it's faint beneath all the other scents inns generally boast. Geralt is grateful that he doesn't have to talk to anybody.

Anybody who isn't Jaskier, anyway.

The hallway has traces of the omega's scent all over; the wall, where he leaned against it, the floor halfway down where he must have fallen to his knees, the door to their room.

The scent of omegan distress wafts out from beneath the door, and Geralt thinks he might actually be sick. He knocks, quietly, two times, to warn Jaskier. Then he opens the door.

Jaskier is on the bed, wrapped up in a big quilt that smells like the innkeeper and a woman. He's staring at Geralt with wide eyes, unmoving.

Geralt closes the door behind him and leans against it. For a long moment they just look at each other. Jaskier's heart is racing.

"Are you alright," the Witcher finally asks, and Jaskier's lips thin.

"Yes."

"That's... Good." He winces internally.

"The innkeeper wants us gone as soon as possible," the omega says. Geralt is surprised the man let Jaskier stay at all, but then again, he probably thinks he's protecting Jaskier from the Witcher. He closes his eyes, grunts in annoyance.

"Why did you hurt him," Jaskier asks, voice small. The stench of fear still clings to him.

"He touched you," Geralt growls, his hackles rising at the mere thought, until he looks at Jaskier.

The boy's eyes are wide. "We were talking about music. He asked about the lute, about my callouses."

 _Fuck_.

"Jaskier," he starts, moves away from the door, and the omega flinches. Scared, of him, again.

Geralt grabs his cloak.

"Lock the door behind me. I'll come collect you after breakfast."

He leaves Jaskier on the bed, staring after him. Roach's stall will have to do for the night.

* * *

Geralt wakes cold, stiff, and already annoyed with everything. Roach is dozing, one hind leg cocked, and he just lays there and listens to her slow breathing for a moment.

He fucked up. He fucked up _so badly_ , he doesn't have the slightest idea how to fix it.

Jaskier had been starting to trust him, at least somewhat, he thinks, and now he's gone and tossed all that progress out of the window. Not to mention the way he's harmed what amounts to an innocent bystander, just because he couldn't keep a lid on the fucking alpha side of himself.

He throws an arm over his face and grits his teeth. He doesn't know where the fuck all this is coming from. He's been around omegas before, has felt the instinct to protect, but he's never had a reaction quite like this. The image of the man touching Jaskier's hand burns behind his closed eyelids, and his own hand tightens into a fist.

"Fuck," he breathes, overwhelmed and frustrated with himself.

He should get rid of the omega. Find a safe place for him and leave him there, get back on the Path and do his job, and forget about the sweet scent of wildflowers and wide blue, blue eyes. Jaskier has talent, he could become a proper bard, maybe even end up in some court or other, find a good alpha of his choosing, one who could give him whatever he wants. Keep him in soft clothes and soft beds, not drag him across the countryside to camp in damp forests. He'd look lovely, Geralt thinks, draped in supple silks, limbs glittering with courting jewellery...

 _Gods_.

He's hard in his breeches, a breath away from popping a knot, and he squeezes his eyes shut so hard he sees stars. What the fuck is _wrong_ with him? The kid is essentially his property, at the very least his responsibility, and here Geralt is, getting hard thinking about courting the boy like a proper alpha would. He's fairly certain that, if he were to present Jaskier with something as ridiculously romantic as a courting necklace, the omega would be more likely to strangle him with it in his sleep than accept it.

He huffs a laugh. There is so much fire inside the boy, so much anger but also a lust for life that even being Lucas's whore hadn't been able to beat out of him. It's intoxicating, and Geralt could live on nothing but the moments when Jaskier is happy and smiling, when he's being sassy and sarcastic and seemingly unafraid.

 _Fuck_. He's doomed, he realises. He has to put as much space between the omega and himself as he possibly can, and quickly.

And yet, his mind strays back to the image of Jaskier, limbs dripping with gold and gemstones over soft skin, at the same time that his hands stray down, and before he knows it he has unlaced his breeches and his cock is in his hand. He hisses, and somewhere to the side Roach snorts, annoyed to be woken up by the Witcher fucking his fist beside her. He'd be sorry if his thoughts weren't occupied by the omega, by wondering what he'd feel like, taste like. What he'd _sound_ like, spread open on Geralt's cock.

Would he be loud, his well-trained lungs projecting his pleasure for all the world to witness? Could Geralt fuck him into speechlessness, make him gasp wordlessly as he fingered him open, sucking his cock at the same time? Does he squeeze his eyes shut, to concentrate on feeling alone, or would he look at Geralt, drown him in those unbelievably blue eyes?

Would he beg for his knot?

Geralt comes, suddenly and violently, and he just succeeds in rolling to his side, his seed splattering over the straw instead of his shirt. His knot is throbbing, yearning, and he slides his hand down and squeezes it, hard, to the edge of pain. He lays there, panting harshly as his orgasm drags on and on, the puddle of seed growing bigger, and he has rarely felt as ashamed of himself as he does now.

* * *

Jaskier has packed up all their things when Geralt finally musters the courage to face him again, and the Witcher pays for their room, and leaves coin to pay for a healer for the other alpha. It's the least he can do.

They don't speak. Jaskier declines the offer of riding, and when he falls back behind Roach a little, Geralt doesn't comment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I shamelessly stole the courting jewellery idea from [the courting jewelry A/B/O](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1689562) series by [suzukiblu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/suzukiblu/pseuds/suzukiblu).


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for attempted suicide by Witcher

Two weeks go by, two absolutely miserable weeks where they barely speak. Jaskier doesn't come closer to him than he needs to, his bedroll always on the other side of the fireplace despite the cold, and when they stay at inns or stop at taverns, he never sits beside Geralt any more. Geralt sleeps on the floor again - when he sleeps at all - and Jaskier presses himself against the wall, making himself as small as he can.

He still performs when the chance presents itself, but Geralt thinks there's something missing. A spark. Authenticity. It makes his chest ache.

There's a constant itch between the Witcher's shoulder blades, the need to move, to do _something_ , and Geralt goes looking for contracts again. Someone needs a basilisk taken care of a couple of days outside of Murivel, and Geralt builds up a camp and leaves Jaskier there with explicit instructions to stay and look after Roach.

When he returns, bloody and battered, he's still brimming with toxicity and keyed up to his fingertips. He snaps and snarls at Jaskier when he asks timidly what's wrong, and the boy shrinks back as if Geralt has hit him. Geralt tries to breathe through the agitation.

"I'm- It's not your fault, I'm just..." He snarls again, paces back and forth beside the fire. He's too full of adrenaline to meditate, and he _hates_ it. His skin crawls.

"You need to work off that energy," Jaskier says, watching him. Then he says, very quietly, "You could fuck me."

 _Gods_.

"Do you _want_ me to fuck you?"

Jaskier shrugs. "Doesn't really matter, does it?"

 _Not if I don't want it to,_ Geralt thinks, but what he says is, "It matters to me."

The boy actually rolls his eyes. Then he gives Geralt a look full of bitterness. "Sure, that's why you accepted the _omega slave_ in lieu of proper payment, because you are _absolutely not_ interested in sticking your dick into me."

Geralt surges forward, into Jaskier's space, snarling. The boy flinches, but he stands his ground, heedless of the fact that he's a good deal shorter and weaker than the angry alpha staring him in the face, or that Geralt's eyes are still entirely black from the potions. He just looks back at him defiantly, even though he stinks so much of fear that it makes Geralt sick.

That's when Geralt realises what's going on. He takes a breath and makes himself step back. "That's not going to work."

"What isn't?"

"I won't hurt you," he says quietly, and now Jaskier flinches as though he's been struck. Geralt draws back, breathes through his nose deliberately. "I know you hate this," he says, voice strained. "But right now, neither of us has a choice."

"I've never had a choice in my fucking life," Jaskier hisses. "From the second it became clear I was an omega, it stopped mattering what I wanted."

"So you _want_ me to hurt you?" The boy's face twists, and it dawns on Geralt then. "Kill you?"

" _Yes_!" Jaskier screams at him, and Geralt grits his teeth. "Because then all of this," he gestures at himself, at Geralt, at the space around them in general, "would be fucking _over_! I wouldn't have to worry if this is the day you'll finally grow tired of treating me like a person and snap and rape me, or beat me, or fucking _sell_ me!" He shoves Geralt then, catching the Witcher off guard so he actually stumbles back a step or two. "I can't do this any more!" And then he bursts into tears, big, heaving sobs that wrack his body, and Geralt's alpha hisses at him.

 _Calm him down. Protect your omega_.

Fuck.

"Jaskier," he says, and the boy covers his face with his hands and cries and cries and cries.

"I was so scared," he forces out between sobs, "when you attacked that alpha. There was no reason, and you- I thought you were going to kill him," he whispers.

 _I would have_ , he thinks, horrified at the realisation. If Jaskier hadn't stopped him, he might have killed that man.

"You looked-" The omega hiccups, gasps wetly. "You looked _insane_ ," he whimpers, "and I was just waiting for you to turn on me, because that's what _always_ happens."

Fucking hell.

Geralt throws caution to the wind. He steps closer and puts his arms around Jaskier, pulling him against his chest. The boy cries out, the scent of fear, of panic, sharp in Geralt's nose, and he holds on tighter as Jaskier starts struggling, pushing against Geralt's shoulder, digging his elbow into his chest.

" _No_ , no, let me _go_ , no, please," and he sounds terrified.

The Witcher holds on, lets him struggle, lets him tire himself out. When Jaskier finally goes limp in his arms, still sobbing, he buries his nose in his hair. "I'm sorry," he says, "gods, Jaskier, I'm _so sorry_." The boy cries harder, his fingers twitching against Geralt's shoulders. "I didn't mean to scare you, I would never hurt you, you have to believe me."

Jaskier whimpers and trembles in his arms.

"I don't know what's happening to me," he admits, his eyes tightly shut. "I see you with- With other alphas and I can't-" He breathes deeply, shudderingly. His senses are filled with Jaskier. "I want to keep you," he whispers, and Jaskier goes rigid in his arms. "Want to give you everything you desire, but I can't. I'm just... I'm just a Witcher, and I don't know what to do to keep you safe, how to give you the things you need." His eyes burn with tears he can't shed, and there's an ache behind his breastbone that he has never experienced before. "I should've taken that collar off of you immediately and sent you on your way," he says bitterly.

The omega tips back his head to look at him. His eyes and cheeks are still wet with tears, but there's something in his gaze that Geralt can't identify. Something like... curiosity, maybe? "Why did you pick me, Geralt? Why not one of the other boys?"

"I don't know," he says quietly. "I couldn't-" He closes his eyes tightly, his mouth twitching against a snarl. "I had to get you out of there."

"But _why_?"

"Because you were angry," he barks, and Jaskier flinches in his hold. "The others, they were just scared. You were _furious_."

Jaskier's face does something odd; his brows draw together and his eyes widen, and then his mouth falls open. "You wanted me because I was _angry_?" He sounds incredulous, and Geralt doesn't blame him.

"I didn't want an omega," he says quietly. "Didn't know that was what they were going to offer me when I walked through the door. But I knew that if I was going to get one, it had to be someone resilient."

"But you didn't _want_ me," Jaskier murmurs. "Not like that, anyway."

Geralt draws a shuddering breath. "It doesn't matter if I did. I'm not going to force myself on you."

The boy's mouth ticks up the slightest bit as he flexes his muscles as far as the hold Geralt still has on him allows, and Geralt drops his arms as if he had forgotten they were there in the first place. Jaskier takes an unsteady breath and wipes at his face. "I'm... I'm sorry for... for taunting you. I shouldn't have done that." He looks down at his hand for a second. "Truth is, I... I like traveling with you."

Geralt's heart skips.

"I get to do the thing I like doing most in the world, and you... You've been nothing but good to me. I'm just-" His face twists, as though the words in his mouth are bitter. "I just keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. I can't _trust_ alphas like this, Geralt. I had to learn that lesson... very quickly."

"I'm sorry," Geralt says, because what else can he say? "I'm sorry you had to experience that. I know... I may be an alpha but I know what it's like to... to have things done to you. Painful things." He doesn't elaborate but he's sure Jaskier understands anyway. Everybody knows Witchers are mutants.

Astonishingly, Jaskier laughs at that. "Don't we make quite a pair," he asks, and Geralt nods.

"We do."

Jaskier shuffles his feet a bit, looks up at him through his lashes. "What's wrong with your eyes," he finally asks, effectively changing the subject, and just like that they go back to their odd companionship of before, which was, admittedly, uneasy but still a far cry from the tension that had held them in its grasp.

By the time Jaskier's eyes start drooping, Geralt feels the exhaustion that always comes after the potions wear off. He shuffles into his bedroll, bone tired, and it takes him a moment to realise Jaskier is standing by the fire, bedroll in his hands. He blinks up at him tiredly. "Anything you need?"

Jaskier shuffles his feet. Chews on his lower lip. "I was- What I mean is- It's _really_ cold? Can I sleep beside you?"

Geralt's heart skips, and he barely stops himself from lifting his arm in invitation. The mere thought of holding Jaskier close like that makes him feel pleasantly warm. Instead he scoots back a little, makes more room between the fire and himself.

Jaskier smiles, not one of his bright performer smiles, but a quiet, gentle thing. Then he lays out his bedroll and slides inside. He's facing Geralt, with his back to the fire, and he pillows his head on his hands. He smells... content, surprisingly. "Good night, Geralt," he murmurs, and closes his eyes.

Geralt... doesn't sleep, despite his exhaustion, too caught up in the way the fire light plays in Jaskier's hair, the way his lips part as he falls asleep, the sweep of his eyelashes over his cheeks.

 _Don't fuck this up_ , he thinks, and by the time he finally falls asleep, the moon is high in the sky.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They have The Talk.

It gets colder, and Geralt realises he's been steadily steering them towards Kaedwen, towards Kaer Morhen. He should go there, he knows, with winter approaching. He just doesn't know what to do with Jaskier. There's an odd peace between them now, and he doesn't want to disturb it.

He can only put it off for so long, though, and he decides to broach the subject when they reach Gelibol. They get a room in an inn, and Jaskier plays, and afterwards they go up to the room. Now's as good a time as any.

"There's a keep, in the mountains," he tells Jaskier, who is lying on his stomach on the bed, scribbling in a notebook. "Where they made us. The School of the Wolf."

Jaskier frowns, ever so slightly. "You want to go there."

"I do. We all do, the ones who are left." He looks at the fire for a moment, moves his legs, stretched out on the floor in front of him where he leans against the bed, towards it. "There's only four of us now. Not going back for the winter... It's understood that whoever doesn't come back is dead."

The omega watches him for a long moment, chewing the inside of his cheek. "They're your family, aren't they?"

Geralt nods. "Only one I know." He rolls his shoulder, tries to dispel the tension there. "You don't- I can find some place. For you. Maybe in Ard Carraigh." The idea makes bile rise in his throat, and he grimaces.

"You dont have to do that," Jaskier says quietly. "If you... want to get rid of me, I can find something on my own."

" _No_ , Jaskier, that's-" He presses his lips together, takes a breath. "I don't want to get rid of you. That's- That's the problem. I want- I want you to come with me. To Kaer Morhen."

Jaskier looks at him, considering. Geralt can't read the expression on his face at all. Then the bard says, "Alright."

Just that. _Alright_ , like he's agreeing to Geralt's suggestion for lunch. "Jaskier," he starts, "the others, they're alphas. You'd be alone up there, with _four_ alphas, for months. You couldn't leave if you wanted to, the keep is snowed in." Why is he trying to talk the boy out of this?

"You'd protect me," Jaskier says, as though it is that simple. Then he adds, "You've proven that," and the smile he gives Geralt at that is... almost playful. It makes his alpha purr, makes it whisper _our pretty mate wants to tease_ , and Geralt bites his tongue so the phrase doesn't accidentally spill out of him.

 _Mate_.

Gods.

"Only if you're certain," he says, and Jaskier turns back to his notebook and hums.

"I mean, I still have time to change my mind," he says, and now he's definitely teasing. Geralt's chest warms, from the inside out, and he leans back against the bedpost and closes his eyes, lets himself bask in the scent of Jaskier's contentment.

* * *

They make their way steadily towards the mountains in the coming weeks. Jaskier plays and sings at every tavern and inn they come across, and Geralt enjoys watching him... well, _blossom_. Like this, he's not an omega whose only worth lies in what's between his legs, he's an artist, an entertainer, and he's bloody good at it. People love him.

Geralt's impulse to rip the arms off of every alpha who comes too close to Jaskier doesn't abate, however. It's disturbing, and he despises himself for it, but that doesn't change the way his alpha howls at him to _do something protect the omega our omega_ every single time.

He curls his hands into fists then, lets his nails bite into his palms. Bites the inside of his cheek. Keeps his eyes on Jaskier just in case. It's unbelievably stressful, and he hates it. He should stay away when the boy performs, go on hunts or stay in their room or with Roach, but he doesn't. He can't, can't _bear_ the thought of letting the omega out of his sight.

One night, a couple of days out of Ard Carraigh, they are camped in a little copse of birches, and for the first time Geralt realises that it won't just be Jaskier up in Kaer Morhen with four alphas - it will mean he, Geralt, will have to see the bard interact with _nothing_ _but_ alphas for months on end.

Fuck.

Jaskier, who is very attuned to his moods by this point, looks up from where he's stirring the thin stew they've managed to cook up. "What's wrong," he asks, limbs stiffening slightly in apprehension. Geralt wonders if that instinctual reaction will ever go away.

"The others," he croaks, stares at his boots, "they're alphas."

"I know." Jaskier frowns. "But you trust them, don't you? You wouldn't take me somewhere..." His throat spasms as he swallows heavily. "Where I could be hurt." He smells of anxiety suddenly.

 _No, never,_ Geralt thinks. He'd rather cut off his own hand than knowingly expose _~~our~~_ the omega to danger. "They wouldn't hurt you." He grimaces. "Lambert is probably going to be rude but he's rude to everyone." He looks down at the fire. "I'm not worried about you, or the others. I'm worried about myself."

Jaskier stills. Then he says, "You think you'll try and hurt them."

"I might." The admission tastes bitter on his tongue.

Jaskier puts down the spoon he has been using to stir the stew. Then he gets to his feet and walks around the fire, to where Geralt is sitting on his bedroll, fiddling with a dead leaf.

The omega sits down beside him, so close that Geralt feels his body heat against his side. And with a deep breath, Jaskier leans against him, rests his head against Geralt's shoulder.

Geralt sits stock still, hardly dares to breathe.

"You've been very careful," Jaskier says quietly. "I notice how much effort it takes you to keep from... acting on your instincts." Alpha instincts, which they both know shouldn't be this strong, this violent.

Not unless...

Unless Geralt's alpha had truly chosen Jaskier as its mate. And seeing his unbonded mate interact with other alphas... It's really no surprise his reactions are this strong.

"But they're your family," Jaskier continues. "They are no threat to you. It should be alright."

Geralt hums. He hopes, fervently, that it will be.

"Can I ask you something?" Jaskier is still leaning against him, and Geralt turns his head a little, until his lips brush against the boy's hair. He hums, and Jaskier asks, "What did they teach you about omegas? About... bonds?"

There it is. Geralt closes his eyes. "Almost nothing. We were told not to expect ever finding a permanent partner, much less a mate. The Path isn't made for that." He takes a deep breath of Jaskier's scent. " _Witchers_ aren't made for it."

Jaskier snorts. His hand is on Geralt's knee. "Guess they were lying."

"Jaskier-"

"I've noticed, Geralt. I'm not stupid. The... possessiveness, the way your eyes get a little unfocused when you get a whiff of me." He sits up straight again and looks up at Geralt. "Like right now," he says quietly, and Geralt looks away, ashamed. Jaskier's hand twitches against his knee. His voice is very quiet when he speaks. "I know you think of me as your mate. I know you can't help it. And I..." He swallows heavily again, looks down at his hands. "I think I'd like it. Being your mate."

Geralt feels faint. His heart beats far too fast.

"But... I'm not ready, Geralt. I can't-" His shoulders rise, towards his ears, the way he'd done instinctively at the beginning, bracing for being struck. Geralt's hand finds his where it rests on the Witcher's knee. "I can't give you what you want. Not yet." His voice trembles. "I can't have sex with you, Geralt. I can't let you bite me. I just _can't_."

"I understand," Geralt says, because he does. The prospect of deciding to... give himself to an alpha like this, with even the hint of a threat of that trust being betrayed? It must be terrifying.

Jaskier pulls his hands into his lap, looks down at them. "I don't know if I'll ever be ready," he says. "I want to be, but..."

"Jaskier," he says, as gently as he can, even as his alpha is yelling at him to _take take take_. "You don't have to. Not now, not ever. This is your decision, and nobody else's."

Jaskier looks at him from under his fringe, smiles. Then he says, "You're a good man, Geralt," and there's no hint that he doesn't mean it.

* * *

Three days later, Jaskier pushes his bedroll right up against Geralt's, and when Geralt wakes, Jaskier's face is pressed against his ribcage.

He lies there for a long time, listening to the omega's slow breaths, and lets himself hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all are NOT ready for the next one. 🙃


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up, buttercups, these next few chapters are going to be a bumpy ride.
> 
> Side note, I now have a very good buffer and will therefore post new chapters on Mondays & Thursdays!
> 
> Warning: physical assault, blood, panic attacks

They're in Ard Carraigh, getting some last minute supplies for their trek up the Witcher's trail. A new, thicker cloak for Jaskier, a cart with a mule, storable vegetables and fruit to get them through the winter. Soaps and oils for the omega, who had been absolutely delighted when Geralt had told him about the hot springs. If he thought about having to be so vulnerable in a keep with four alphas around, he doesn't let on.

"I'm not depleting your supplies, am I?" Jaskier is chewing on his lower lip, watching Geralt load their things on the cart.

"No, don't worry. We eat... a lot in winter. Build up some reserves for the following year. Most monsters hibernate, and spring can be lean before contracts pay enough."

Jaskier's face lights up, and he reaches over and pokes a finger into Geralt's side. "Does that mean I'll see you with some chub?" He sounds unreasonably delighted by the idea, and Geralt can't bite back his smile.

"Maybe."

When everything is tied down, Jaskier gives him a thoughtful look. "Do we still have some of... the money left? I'd like to get something for the others."

Lucas's money, he means. "We do, but you don't have to do that. Buy their affections, I mean. You're my-" _Omega_ , he'd almost said, catching himself just in time. "Guest," he says instead, not missing the way Jaskier had stiffened, then relaxed. "They'll just have to deal with it. If they can't, keep's big enough."

"I know I don't have to," Jaskier says quietly. "But I want to."

Geralt should have learned his lesson by now. It's not as if he could deny the boy something as harmless as this.

They leave Roach and the cart at a stable and make their way back to the market, Geralt explaining about the others' interests. It turns out to be more difficult to buy gifts for them with a purpose than just chancing upon something that reminds him of them, he finds.

They're standing at a blacksmith's stall, looking at smaller hunting knives, when Jaskier goes rigid beside him all of a sudden. His nostrils flare, and when Geralt turns to look at him, he sees that all the colour has drained from his face. Geralt's blood quickens immediately, bracing for a threat.

"Jaskier? What's wrong, are you-"

"Julek? Is that you?"

There's a man, quickly making his way across the road towards them, a man with blue eyes and brown hair. Julek, he said, clearly heading straight for Jaskier.

Julek, a form of Julian.

Jaskier's father.

Geralt steps in front of Jaskier with a snarl just as the man raises a hand to touch the now trembling omega's shoulder, and he flinches back, surprise clear on his face. Then he proves to be exactly the kind of fool Jaskier had described him as, for he says, "Out of my way, Witcher, that's my _son_."

Geralt's fist makes a very satisfying sound as it connects with the man's jaw, and a moment later he's sprawled in the gutter, looking up at Geralt with shocked indignation. "Try and touch him again, you lose the arm," Geralt snarls, and the man pales.

Then his face turns red. "Who do you think you are? That's _my_ son, I can-"

Geralt's leg moves back, to kick the man in the face, but Jaskier is between them before that can happen. He is still deathly pale, and very much not looking at his father, his eyes trained on Geralt's chest . "Let's just go, Geralt," he says, in the smallest voice Geralt has ever heard him use, " _please_ , let's just-"

His father really seems to be short of a marble or five, because he heaves himself to his feet and reaches out for Jaskier's shoulder again. "Julek, what-"

The question, whatever it may have been, dies in a scream as Geralt sinks one of the knives from the blacksmith's stall into the man's shoulder. Then he twists it, for good measure. Jaskier's father falls to his knees, blood pouring down his front and his arm hanging limply down, and he screams and screams. Geralt wrenches the knife back.

"I _told you_ to keep your fucking worthless hands to yourself," he growls. Then he turns to face the, by now frankly terrified, blacksmith. "Good knife," he says, and pulls out his coin purse. "How much?"

Jaskier is staring at the man who was once his father, who is somehow still screaming, and when Geralt turns around from paying the blacksmith, he puts a hand on the omega's shoulder. Jaskier jerks back, and when he looks up at him, his face is contorted with fury.

" _Kill him_ ," he hisses, and Geralt is moving before he even realises he's doing it. He stops himself at the last second, his hand already wrapped around the man's throat.

He can't do that, he remembers. He can't just kill a man in broad daylight, even if his alpha is roaring at him to _do it snap his thin little neck how **dare** he even look at our omega_, but he knows only too well what that would mean for all Witchers.

It would be Blaviken all over again.

And so he settles for squeezing until the man gasps for air, pulling him closer until they are a hand's width apart. "If you _ever_ cross my path again, you better pray that you can run faster than me," he growls, then shoves the man back. He tries to catch himself on his hands but the right arm still hangs limply down, no use to him, and so he sprawls on his back, gasping as fresh pain lances through him.

Geralt straightens up again and takes Jaskier by the elbow. The omega is shaking. "Let's go, Jask," he says quietly.

Jaskier pulls his arm out of his grasp and takes the few steps needed to stand over his father. Either the man is too out of it with pain or shock or he really is as big a fool as Geralt thinks, because he looks almost hopeful as he stares up at Jaskier.

Jaskier leans down and spits directly in his face.

"I would tell you I hope you die in pain and alone, but that would be a lie. I hope for _nothing_. From this moment on, you are dead to me, and I will _never_ think about you _ever again._ "

With that Jaskier turns his back on the man and storms away, in the direction of the stable. Geralt gives the man a last threatening look, then follows the omega.

* * *

By the time they reach the stable, Jaskier's face has lost all colour, and his hands are shaking uncontrollably. Geralt guides him into Roach's stall, and Jaskier presses his back against the wall and sinks to the floor.

"What have I done," he whispers, staring at his knees, and Geralt sits beside him.

"You did nothing wrong, Jaskier."

"I told you to _kill_ him," he says, voice barely a hiss between his teeth, "and you would have done it." He balls his hands into fists. " _I_ would've made you a murderer, Geralt."

"I already am a murderer," Geralt says quietly, and Jaskier flinches. "I would have done it, even if you hadn't asked me to. He deserves it for what he did to you." Slowly, he holds out a hand, and Jaskier seizes it with both of his, bowing over them and pressing the back of Geralt's hand against his forehead. Geralt's breath catches.

" _I'm so sorry_ ," Jaskier gasps, and tears drip onto Geralt's fingers, "I'm sorry, _please_ forgive me, I didn't mean to-"

Geralt winds an arm around the boy's back and pulls him into his lap, and Jaskier wails and buries his face in Geralt's neck as he collapses into helpless sobs.

They sit like that for a long time, and when Jaskier has finally calmed down and stopped crying, he's exhausted and almost falling asleep in Geralt's lap.

"Do you want a bed," he asks quietly, wanting to offer the boy a night of comfort before they start towards the mountains, and Jaskier nods weakly.

"Please," he says, voice rough from crying, and Geralt rises, lifting Jaskier into his arms. The omega doesn't struggle, just rests his head against Geralt's shoulder and allows himself to be carried to the inn like a child.

Geralt's lips brush the crown of his head, and his alpha purrs with a job well done.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: panic attacks, dissociation, scars from past abuse, brief discussion of past rape

The inn is close to the stable, a small family-run one where Geralt has stayed before. The people there know him, know his brothers, too. The beta innkeeper, Tomasz, greets him, then frowns at Jaskier's still form in his arms.

"He alright," he asks, and Geralt's lips thin.

"We need a room, there was... an incident."

"The market place," the man says, looking thoughtful. "They're saying you attacked a man for no reason."

"They don't know-" He cuts himself off. It's no use, he knows.

"Was it about him?" Tomasz smells sincere, concerned with Jaskier more than the rumours running wild across the city.

"Yes," Geralt says, and Tomasz pulls a key out from under the bar.

"First floor, second door on the left. I'll have a bath sent up," he adds, then pats Geralt's shoulder. "On the house."

Geralt doesn't know how to respond. He's too grateful for the man's quiet care and support to put into words, and so he just nods and takes the key.

The room is small but friendly, with a wide bed and a hearth and a window with lacy curtains that looks out over a grassy little square. Children play down there when it's warmer, he can tell. There's a forgotten ball, stuffed with straw, a crudely carved wooden horse.

Geralt lays the omega down on the bed; Jaskier whimpers and rolls onto his side. Geralt brushes his fringe away from his forehead. "The innkeeper is sending a bath up," he says quietly. "Would you like to bathe, Jaskier?"

The boy blinks tiredly up at him, eyes a bit unfocused. "Yes," he finally says, voice thick and slow. "Please."

It's only when the tub has been brought in that Geralt recognises the conundrum he's now in. Jaskier is in no state to bathe himself. The Witcher is also reasonably certain the boy wouldn't want to be touched or even seen naked by an alpha.

 _Fuck_.

The boy who brought up the tub and water is a lanky teen who hasn't yet presented, and Geralt snags him by the sleeve as he hurries out the door. The boy squeaks in shocked surprise. "Is there an omega who could... help him? With his bath?"

The boy looks between Jaskier, who still lies on the bed, motionless, and Geralt, a line between his brows. "Beggin' your pardon, master Witcher sir, isn't he your omega? Can't you help him?"

Geralt scowls, and the boy's mouth snaps shut. "Is there someone?" The boy shakes his head, and Geralt sighs. The boy all but runs.

 _No use delaying it_ , he thinks bitterly as he closes the door. Behind him, Jaskier sniffles quietly. Taking a deep breath, Geralt turns and walks over to the bed, crouching in front of it. "Jaskier," he says softly, "the bath is here. Can you..."

Jaskier hums and lifts his arms, clearly asking to be picked up; Geralt hesitates.

"I'll have to undress you, Jaskier. Is that alright?"

Again, Jaskier hums. His eyes are closed, his face pinched, but he only smells of his general anxiety and panic from earlier, no new rise of it at the prospect of being naked in front of Geralt. He huffs a breath, tries to steel himself. Carefully, he takes Jaskier's hands and pulls him up to sitting.

The boy is limp. Geralt is surprised that he doesn't just topple over again. Slowly, carefully he pulls off Jaskier's boots, being sure to keep an eye on his face. Jaskier just stares off into the distance, and it worries Geralt.

After the boots and socks comes the doublet, and then Geralt pulls him to his feet gently. "Jaskier," he says, but the omega doesn't react. Geralt hooks a finger under his chin, tips his head back. "Jaskier," he repeats; Jaskier just blinks at him.

 _Fuck_.

It's shock, he thinks, Jaskier's mind too overwhelmed with what happened to the point where it just... took some time off. He's seen it before, should have recognised it earlier. Jaskier can't possibly consent to being naked in front of Geralt in this state.

Geralt sinks to the floor, sits back on his heels and breathes, pressing the heel of his hand between his brows. Fuck. When did his life become so fucking _complicated_? Before he knows he's doing it, his forehead is pressed against Jaskier's thighs as his hands encircle his calves, and if he could, he's certain he'd be crying.

There's a hand softly petting his crown all of a sudden, and he takes a shuddering breath. "Geralt? What... what are you doing down there?" Jaskier's voice is shaky, uncertain, and Geralt looks up at him. His eyes are still somewhat hazy but it appears that the fog he has been in is slowly lifting.

"There's a bath for you," Geralt says, voice rough. "I didnt want to- You're in shock. I asked if you wanted my help and you said yes, but... You didn't know it was me."

He can't read the expression on the omega's face. Brows slightly pinched, eyes clearing slowly, lips pursed. Finally Jaskier looks up, away from Geralt still on his knees before him. "You would've seen me naked," he murmurs, "could've touched me however you wanted." His voice is contemplative, and he frowns at the tub.

"I wouldn't, Jaskier. I _didn't_."

"I know." And then he moves away, Geralt's hands dropping away from his legs as he lets him go. Jaskier unbuttons his trousers and lets them fall, then pulls his chemise over his head.

Geralt's breath catches. For a moment he can't focus on anything but the expanse of pale skin suddenly before him. Jaskier is still lean, despite the pounds of both fat and muscle he has put on in the last few weeks, his omega status undeniable when not hidden beneath his clothes that make him appear wider than he is.

Then he sees the scars, and an involuntary whine escapes his throat.

Jaskier's back is _littered_ with bite marks, from his shoulders down to the meat of his arse. As he drops his smallclothes and lifts his leg to step into the water, Geralt sees there are more on the inside of his thighs. Jaskier sinks into the water with a sigh, leans his head back against the rim of the tub and closes his eyes.

Geralt is still kneeling before the bed, staring. His alpha is _roaring_ , snarling, telling him to hunt down every single worthless son of a bitch who ever put his hands on Jaskier and tear them limb from limb. He's trembling with barely repressed rage, and the same whine from before sits in his throat.

"Do we have soap," Jaskier asks calmly, as though Geralt's world isn't collapsing around him at the realisation what exactly the omega has been through.

"I..." He can hardly make sense of the question, but then Jaskier turns his head and looks at him, almost serenely, and Geralt pulls himself together. "Hmm," he says, because he can't form sentences, not yet. He pushes himself to his feet and fetches the simple soap he carries in his pack, then, with another deep breath, brings it over to Jaskier. The omega looks up at him, head tilted back against the tub. His fringe is damp with a mixture of sweat from his attack and condensation from the water, and Geralt tries hard to keep his eyes on his face.

Jaskier holds out a hand for the soap, and Geralt hands it over. Then Jaskier says, "You want to know about the bites."

Geralt doesn't _want_ to know. He doesn't want to acknowledge their existence, wants to erase the image from his memory. But if Jaskier wants to tell him, he'll listen, and when he says as much, Jaskier closes his eyes and sighs.

"I was barely eighteen when I was raped for the first time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun times. 🙃
> 
> On a happier note, I have reached 102 subscribers on here and I'd like to thank all of you very much for that!  
> To celebrate, I am giving away one commissioned fic - find the details [over here](https://twitter.com/formerly_as_g/status/1345892313722220546?s=19)! Have a good Monday!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a tough one, folx, but the boys are making progress, and Jaskier does something very brave.  
> In case you wanted to hate Lucas even more, here you go.
> 
> Warnings: detailed descriptions of past abuse and rape, a lot of self-hatred, derogatory language used by an abuser parroted back

"I had never been with anyone before," Jaskier murmurs. He's turning the soap over and over in his hands, fidgeting. "Lucas said... He said it would make it _easier_ for me if he..." His mouth twists. "If he broke me in."

Geralt feels bile rise in his throat. He doesn't want to hear this.

"He tied me down. Stuffed a rag in my mouth. I tried biting him but he just hit me until I stopped. I knew how sex works but..." He heaves a deep breath. "I wasn't wet, not even a little. I thought I was going to die. It hurt so much, I was certain he would tear me apart."

"Jaskier." He hardly recognises his own voice. The omega doesn't even seem to hear him.

"I screamed into that rag until I couldn't any more, and Lucas just... He just kept going and going, again and again, until I _hoped_ he'd kill me, that I would die from it, so it would be over." He scoffs. His hands, now tight around the bar of soap, have sunk underneath the water, making it cloud. "It wasn't over, not by a long shot. He brought in the first alpha the next day."

Geralt grips the edge of the tub, falls to his knees beside it. He wants to scream, but all that comes out is that awful whine again.

"I didn't think anything could be worse than Lucas but I was so, _so_ wrong." Jaskier takes a shuddering breath. "Lucas kept saying how I should be _grateful_ that he went first, that he'd made it easier for me. I kept thinking about how I would kill him if I ever got the chance. About the things I'd do to him before I'd slit his throat." He opens his eyes then, gives Geralt a bitter smile. "When you came back to me that first night and gave me my lute back, I could've kissed you. I was so happy that he was dead."

"I should've done more," Geralt whispers. He should have. He wishes he had.

Jaskier raises a hand, brings it to Geralt's cheek. Geralt sighs at the contact. "You did what counts. You rid the world of a truly awful person." His lower lip wobbles. "You _saved_ me, and I paid you back with distrust and accusations."

"You had every reason to distrust me. _Have_ every reason," Geralt says. He doesn't want to know more, wishes he could forget the things Jaskier told him, but... "The bites?"

Jaskier's eyes close again, his palm still pressed against Geralt's cheek. "No mating bites. That was Lucas's one rule. The alphas could fuck us until we bled, could knot us however they wanted." He licks his lips, grimacing, and Geralt has the sudden horrible vision of some faceless alpha knotting Jaskier's _mouth_ , the way he must've struggled trying to breathe, and he leans forward, rests his forehead against the edge of the tub. Jaskier's hand moves with him, from his cheek to gently stroke the back of his head. "They were allowed to bite us, just not to mate us." He chuckles, short and humourless. "Have you ever been bitten by a human? It's excruciating, and the bites would almost always get infected. We'd always be glad if we got an alpha who didn't bite us. That's how low our standards were."

"I should've been there sooner," Geralt whimpers, " _gods_ , Jaskier."

"You came, that's all that counts. I just..." Jaskier breathes heavily, his fingertips grazing over Geralt's scalp. "I wanted you to understand. Why it's so... so hard for me to..." He chuckles again. "Melitele have mercy, I _want_ to be with you, Geralt. I want you to touch me and make me feel the way an omega is supposed to feel, but it scares me so much. And I'm scared of _myself_ for wanting it. I keep thinking, what if Lucas was right? What if that's really all I'm good for, when I look at you and wonder what it would be like to let you fuck me. Maybe I _really am_ just a cock-hungry omega slut."

Geralt growls, and Jaskier's fingers twitch. "You're _not_ \- That." He groans, looks up at Jaskier again. "There's nothing wrong with... wanting. With wondering."

Jaskier looks back at him, still eerily calm. "Do you wonder?"

Geralt's eyes widen.

"Do you think about what it would be like? To have me like that?"

He shouldn't. He doesn't want to admit it, still ashamed of that morning in the stable, but he owes Jaskier this much, this honesty. "Yes," he breathes, and Jaskier tilts his head.

"Tell me," he says, as though he's asking about the weather. "Tell me what you think about."

Geralt swallows thickly. " _Jaskier_..."

"Please," he says, and Geralt has no choice.

"I... I wonder what you'd sound like. Taste like. If you... If you'd be loud. If you'd like it when I suck your cock."

Jaskier's eyes widen, and his breathing hitches. "That- You'd _do_ that?" He sounds absolutely incredulous. "But- _Why_?"

Geralt puts a hand over Jaskier's, brings it down to his cheek again. "To make you feel good." He closes his eyes, the intensity of Jaskier's gaze too much to withstand. "I'd never want you to feel anything but pleasure at my hands, Jaskier. I'd _never_ want to hurt you, and if I ever made you cry it would be because it felt so good that you wouldn't know how else to deal with it."

The omega's heart is racing, and when Geralt opens his eyes again, there is a rosy flush on his cheeks that does not come from the heat of the bath. His eyes are wide, the pupils dilated. Heat races through Geralt at the sight. "Oh," Jaskier says, his fingers pressing into Geralt's cheek ever so slightly. "That's- Is that... possible?"

"Yes," Geralt says, and Jaskier flushes a deeper shade of red. There's a new scent in the air, spicy-sweet - the slight hint of _arousal_ , and Geralt feels emboldened, and he says, softly, "I'd want to lick you open, make you lose your mind with pleasure. Wouldn't need to put anything inside you but my tongue."

" _Oh_ ," Jaskier says again, and he sinks lower into the tub. The hair at the back of his neck floats in the water, and there's a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his face, down his throat. Geralt can't look away. "Tha-" Jaskier's voice cracks. "That sounds nice," he breathes, and Geralt hums. The water, cloudy with the soap, ripples, ever so slightly, and Geralt realises, with a jolt, that Jaskier must be touching himself.

The Witcher _purrs_ , a sound he doesn't remember ever making before, and Jaskier's eyes snap to his face. They both know what a purr means, and Jaskier whimpers. Geralt's grip on his hand tightens ever so slightly. "Are you-"

Jaskier jerks, hands pulled against his chest. "I'm sorry, I-"

"Jaskier, it's alright, you- _Fuck_ , you can touch yourself, you don't-" He closes his eyes, grunts. "You don't need my _permission_. I just..."

Jaskier stares at him. Indecision is clear on his face. "You like it," he says softly, "the idea that... I touch m- my cock, because of the things you're telling me."

"I do," Geralt replies, and even he can hear the desire in his voice. Jaskier gives him a long, calculating look, biting his lip as he thinks.

Then he says, "Go sit on the bed."


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boys have sex, but not in any way Jaskier expected.  
> Jaskier barely talks and Geralt doesn't _stop_ talking. It's opposite day, y'all.

Geralt obeys instantly. The idea not to doesn't even cross his mind. One moment he's kneeling by the tub, the next he's on the bed. He's rock hard in his breeches, and by the way Jaskier's eyes widen ever so slightly, the omega notices.

"Tell me, what you want to do with me," he says, softly. His hands disappear beneath the water, both of them now.

Geralt's hands curl into fists around the bedsheets. His mouth is suddenly very dry.

"I want to touch you," he says, voice roughened with his desire. "Everywhere. Figure out where it makes you sigh, where you moan, where it tickles." Jaskier's lips curl up ever so slightly, and Geralt mirrors the expression. "Want to kiss you," he continues, "until you're so relaxed you're boneless, or until you're so needy you can hardly bear it."

The water ripples. Jaskier's lips part, his pink tongue flicking out to wet the bottom one.

"I want to hold you," he breathes, "to scent you and listen to your heartbeat." This obviously surprises the omega, and Geralt smiles faintly. "I've never wanted this as intensely with anyone before. To just... be close to you, to be- To be _allowed_."

Jaskier's head tips back against the tub. His eyes flutter.

"But I also _want_ you, more than anyone before. I want to feel you grow hard in my hand, in my mouth, want to feel your slick on my face, want to taste it. Lick you until you come, and then _keep going_ until you're so sensitive you either come again or beg me to stop."

The omega moans. The water ripples faster, sloshing against the side of the tub. Geralt is leaking into his breeches. Heat ripples across his skin.

"I want to finger you open, slowly, gently, as much or as little as you want. Want to hear you gasp and moan at the stretch, fuck yourself on my fingers."

Jaskier gasps, his head thrown back and his eyes squeezed shut. His arm moves, and he shifts in the tub, and Geralt bites his lip so hard he tastes blood as he realises the omega must be fingering himself as he strips his cock.

"Gods, Jaskier, I just want- I want you to experience all the pleasure your body can offer you. I want you to know what sex is supposed to _be_ like." He shifts. His alpha is surprisingly silent, curled in a corner of his mind. "I want you to _want_ me," he admits, and Jaskier's breath catches, "want you to _trust_ me with this. I swear to you I would never hurt you. I'd rather cut off my own hand."

Jaskier eyes flutter open. They're nearly all black, the blue swallowed up in his arousal. He whimpers. "Geralt..."

"I want you to _want_ me to fuck you," he breathes, "to think about me inside you and expect nothing but pleasure." He shifts again. He's so fucking close without ever touching himself. "And if you decide you _never_ want that, I'll accept it."

The omega throws his head back, his face scrunching up. " _Fuck_ , Geralt, I'm-"

His back arches, and then he's coming with a cry, flooding the room with pheromones, and Geralt's eyes roll back in his head as he spills, one hand flying between his legs, squeezing his knot so hard he sees stars.

They're both panting, trying to calm their racing hearts. Geralt's orgasm _doesn't stop_ , just keeps going and going, his breeches sodden already, and he let's his head fall back as he gasps for breath, stares at the ceiling.

There's a splash of water, the rustle of fabric, but Geralt can't focus, can't look, too busy coming his brains out as his senses are completely overwhelmed by the scent of Jaskier, by his lust and the _sharp-hot-sweet_ scent left in the wake of his orgasm. The soft touch against the line of his jaw makes him jump, makes his cock throb harder, and he forces his eyes open.

Jaskier stands between his spread thighs, a sheet wrapped around his slim hips. He's watching Geralt curiously, his fingertips still pressed against the Witcher's jaw. His chest is covered with thick dark hair that Geralt wants to run his fingers through, wants to bury his nose in. The boy's nipples are a dusty pink, and that pelt on his chest thins, leads down in a thin trail towards his groin.

" _Jaskier_ ," he whimpers, still coming in his breeches. He's never had an orgasm that lasted this long, and it can only be due to the omega and his delicious scent. "Please," he adds, gasps, as his knot throbs, and he doesn't know what he's asking for, just that he needs... _something_.

The omega watches him for a long moment, fingers still against his jaw. Then he leans forward until Geralt can feel his breath on his face, and Geralt's eyes flutter closed. Jaskier hums, and then he says, "You did good, Geralt," and Geralt comes _again_ , almost painfully so, an orgasm that is distinctly separate from the first. His vision whites out and he collapses back on the bed, hand cramping around his knot as he makes a gurgling sort of noise.

When he regains control of his senses again, Jaskier sits on the bed beside him, watching silently. He's pulled on a fresh chemise and smalls and nothing else, and Geralt's eyes snag for a second on his legs before he meets his gaze.

"To be completely honest," Jaskier says conversationally, "seeing you come in your breeches like a green boy _and_ almost lose consciousness just because I told you how good you were kind of takes the edge off the whole big bad alpha Witcher business." And then he smiles knowingly, and Geralt lets his eyes slide closed as he, too, smiles.

* * *

Jaskier pushes him towards the tub none too gently once Geralt can stand again without his knees wobbling. "You're absolutely _covered_ in come, Geralt, there is no way I'm letting you into this bed like that."

The thought that Jaskier wants to share the bed with him propels him into motion. The water is colder than he'd like but it smells like Jaskier, and he only hesitates when he realises that it's now his turn to be naked in front of the other. He turns to look back at the omega questioningly, and Jaskier, curled up under the blankets, just looks back at him calmly.

Geralt breathes, and tugs his chemise free from his breeches. The bottom edge of it is also drenched in his seed, and he grimaces. Jaskier snickers from his place on the bed. Geralt has never heard him make this sound before, and he really wants to hear it again.

Holding the shirt's edge away from his skin, he pulls it over his head; behind him, Jaskier's heart skips. His breath quickens, and Geralt turns to look at him. Jaskier's eyes are wide, his lip between his teeth.

Geralt knows what he looks like. Big and broad, alpha and Witcher both, his skin carrying the souvenirs of all the times he'd been too slow in a fight. But as he meets the omega's eyes, there is only appreciation, and Geralt's alpha purrs. _Our pretty mate likes what he sees_ , the alpha whispers, and Geralt's chest swells with it.

He drops the shirt on a chair and kicks off his boots before he reaches for the ties of his breeches. Jaskier shifts on the bed. Geralt takes a deep breath, and pushes the fabric down.

Jaskier makes a soft little, " _Oh_ ," and it takes all of Geralt's willpower to not preen like an idiot. That was a _pleased_ , "Oh," not a fearful or apprehensive one, and he drops the breeches onto the floor beside the chair and turns to face Jaskier fully.

The omega watches him, eyes still wide. Then he says, "Clean yourself up, and then get over here."

Geralt obeys.

When he is done bathing, Jaskier is there with the same sheet he had used to dry himself, and Geralt's sleeping trousers. He doesn't shy away when Geralt steps out of the bath but he doesn't touch, just stands by the bed and looks. Geralt dries himself and pulls on the trousers, and Jaskier smiles and climbs back into bed, and when Geralt has followed, the omega carefully crawls into the crook of his arm, hand petting over Geralt's ribs gently. His breath whispers over Geralt's nipple, and he shudders.

"Geralt?"

"Hm."

"Thank you, for... for tonight. Today, really. You-" He presses his lips together tightly, then whispers, "You're a good alpha," and that hits Geralt square in the chest, so much weightier than when Jaskier had called him a good man.

He doesn't have a reply, doesn't know how to give voice to the mass of emotions swirling in his chest, and so he settles for "Hmm," and Jaskier snickers again.

They fall asleep like that, with Jaskier listening to the Witcher's slow heartbeat, and with Geralt's nose buried in his curls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm deliberately not defining what kind of genitalia male omegas have here. They have a penis, everything else is open to interpretation.
> 
> Anyway! We have reached the halfway point, and I'm sure everything will be sunshine and roses from here on out! 🙃


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kaer Morhen, finally.

They leave the city the next day, with Roach tied to the back of the cart and Jaskier walking by Geralt's side as he leads the mule. He's in a good mood, and so is Geralt. Waking up with Jaskier properly in his arms instead of the boy having just migrated over to him in his sleep feels... monumental, somehow.

Jaskier has pulled his lute to his front and is strumming it idly despite the cold, humming to himself as he walks. He smells content, happy even, and Geralt's alpha purrs at having pleased _our pretty mate._

"How long until we reach the keep, do you think?" He looks up from his lute. How he can even walk like that without tripping every other step is a mystery to Geralt.

"Another week, probably. We're a little early, the passes should be clear." It's true, he usually makes it back much later in the year, but he had been a bit desperate for Vesemir's counsel. He wasn't _supposed_ to own an omega, much less travel with one, and least of all to want to _mate_ one, and yet all of those things had happened. He had wanted, in the beginning, for someone to tell him what to do. Then he'd wanted Vesemir's approval, his permission and, well, blessing. Now... Well. Now he just wants to take his omega home, a pox on what the others think.

"Hmm," comes Jaskier's acknowledgement. He moves a little closer to Geralt; if he wasn't fiddling with his lute, their hands would brush against each other as they walk. "Tell me about the others again?"

And so Geralt does. He has already told the story of Eskel and the bumblebee, of how Vesemir had beat them for it, and Jaskier had been horrified at the description of the punishment, but had understood the reason and purpose: Witchers can't be cruel to beings weaker than themselves, and most beings are weaker than a Witcher. Now, he talks about Eskel and his goats, about Lambert's peculiar way of fishing, about Vesemir's quiet, no nonsense approach to pretty much anything.

"He was our teacher," Geralt says as they stop for a light lunch. Jaskier sits cross legged beside him, plucking at a heel of cheese. It's cold, cold enough for their breath to fog, but the sun is shining and Jaskier closes his eyes and turns his face into it. He looks radiant like that, utterly beautiful, and Geralt catches himself purring again. Jaskier doesn't say anything, just smiles softly.

They don't encounter anyone on the last leg of their journey. There's a small village at the foot of the mountain, but they have everything they need and don't stop there.

"It will be difficult," Geralt warns. "The trail is hard even for a Witcher."

Jaskier just smiles and takes the mule's lead, then gestures for Geralt to walk ahead. "Lead the way, Witcher mine," and _oh_ , if that doesn't keep him warmer than any cloak could.

They make good time, which is mostly due to the good weather. No snow this far down yet, and Jaskier has built up enough endurance to keep up. That night, they build a proper camp, with a fire and bedrolls. Further up, this will be more difficult as the trail narrows.

Jaskier moves right into Geralt's arms again after he has crawled into his bedroll. It has become their new normal, and Geralt cherishes these moments. He recognises them for the gift that they are, sees the trust Jaskier places in him. He allows himself some leeway then, burying his nose in Jaskier's hair and letting his scent fill up every corner of him.

The ascent takes two days, and by the end of it, just before the keep comes into view, Jaskier is thoroughly exhausted. "I regret every decision that ever led me to this point," he grumbles, and Geralt smiles.

"Let's see if you still think that once you're in the hot springs."

Jaskier rolls his eyes. "Don't try and butter me up with promises of baths, Witcher. I am but a mere mortal, and climbing this _stupid_ mountain with you was a colossally stupid idea. I don't know what possessed me to agree to this." His voice is teasing, though, his ire exaggerated, and Geralt offers him a hand and pulls gently. Jaskier follows, allows himself to be wrapped into a careful embrace.

"I'm glad for this bout of temporary insanity, then," he says, and Jaskier laughs.

When they make their way across the drawbridge, Jaskier looks down into the moat, and Geralt knows the moment he understands what he sees from the way his heartbeat changes.

"There was an attack," he says quietly. "Many years ago. Religious fanatics. They killed everyone who was here."

Jaskier stares down into the moat. He smells so strongly of distress that it makes Geralt feel sick. "Geralt, those skulls... Those are _children_."

What can he say to that? Because it's true. It hadn't mattered if the attackers encountered fully grown, mutated Witchers, or the many, many boys who were supposed to become Witchers.

Everyone had died the same.

And so he just says, "Hm," and tugs the mule forward again. Jaskier stays behind for another moment, and Geralt can hear him murmur a prayer, softly and earnestly, before he follows.

Vesemir has opened the gates for them and is waiting by the well, arms crossed in front of his chest. "You're early," he says by way of greeting, and Geralt shrugs. "And you've brought a guest."

There's something odd in the old man's voice. They've all brought guests before. It's not that unusual that it needs to be remarked upon like this.

None of their guests have ever been omegas, though.

"This is Jaskier. He's a bard. I... met him in Redania."

Jaskier looks apprehensive, fingers and thumb rubbing together nervously as Vesemir watches him thoughtfully. Then the Witcher pushes off the well and walks up to Jaskier; the boy stiffens.

"I welcome you into my home, omega," the old wolf says, "and swear that no harm shall befall you as long as you reside under my roof." Then he leans his head back, baring his neck. Allowing himself to be scented.

Jaskier... stares. This is an old custom, Geralt thinks, something taught to Vesemir when he was so much younger, and rejecting it would be a show of disrespect. He nods at Jaskier encouragingly, and after another moment of hesitation, Jaskier steps closer and gingerly breathes in. The tension in his limbs lessens, and when he steps back, he wears a soft smile.

Geralt waits for the surge of aggression, of possessiveness, but it never comes, and he breathes a sigh of relief.

Jaskier runs his fingers over his lute strap, still watching Vesemir. "I... thank you. I know this must all be terribly unexpected."

Vesemir's mouth quirks up. "It is certainly that." He nods at Geralt. "Get the animals situated. I'll fix you both some lunch." And with that he turns and disappears into the keep.

Jaskier fiddles with his lute strap, staring after him. "That was strange."

"Vesemir has lived a long time," Geralt says as they make their way over towards the stable. "He can be a bit old-fashioned."

Jaskier follows, then starts to untie Roach's reins from the cart when Geralt stops. "I liked it. It was... It showed respect."

Geralt hums. They work in silence, getting Roach and the mule into their stalls, watered and fed. "Witchers don't get a lot of respect," he says at length. "We know what it feels like to be looked down upon."

Jaskier takes his hand and squeezes softly. Together, they head into the keep.

* * *

They meet Vesemir in the great hall. There is a dining hall, but it has been all but abandoned, only used these days when they are snowed in completely and need to work off some energy. They'll spar there, or wrestle, or sometimes box. Lock three relatively young alpha Witchers in a castle for a couple of months and it can get ugly if they don't have diversions at the ready.

Vesemir has prepared a hearty lunch of different cheeses, bread and new apples, and Jaskier visibly has to pace himself so he doesn't just stuff his face. Geralt tells Vesemir about a few of the contracts he's taken this year, about rumours he's heard. Vesemir, in turn, tells him about the monsters that nest in the keep's vicinity - "There's a couple of griffins nesting. When Eskel comes back, you should go clear that out." - and repairs that need to be made. It's routine, the same things they talk about every year, and Geralt feels some of the tension he's carried in his back for weeks drain away.

After they've eaten, Vesemir shoos them away. "Go and put your things away. And clean yourselves up, you smell like the road, and not in a good way." Jaskier _giggles_ , and Vesemir's mouth quirks up.

They fetch their packs from the cart, and Geralt leads Jaskier up to where the bedrooms are. It's only there that he realises.

"Do you... You can have your own room. If you want. We have enough," he says awkwardly, and Jaskier smiles softly.

"Which one is yours?" Geralt points, and Jaskier walks to the door and pushes it open. Then he walks inside without a backwards glance.

Geralt is purring when he follows.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hot springs, hot springs, hooooooot _springs_!

Jaskier is delighted by Geralt's room, something that, if he's honest, baffles him quite a bit. "It's just a room," he says, and Jaskier scowls.

"But it's yours." He waves a hand at all the little knickknacks Geralt has accumulated over the years. Nothing of worth, just mementos of contracts he's taken, places he's been. "These tell a _story_ , Geralt! _Your_ story!" He runs his fingertips over the edge of a charcoal drawing. Geralt received it years and years ago; the charcoal is faded, smudged in places. It's a forktail he hunted in Velen, soon after he'd started on the Path. It's nothing special, but Jaskier looks at it as though it is a priceless oil painting. "The things you must have seen."

"Mostly a lot of shit," he says wryly; Jaskier scowls at him. "I usually see the worst of people," he continues, and Jaskier stiffens, and drops the subject.

"So," Jaskier says instead, "about those hot springs then."

They pull out fresh clothes, and Geralt leads him down into the courtyard, then down a flight of stairs. The air grows humid even before Geralt opens the door.

Jaskier's gasp is extremely satisfying, even if Geralt himself has nothing to do with the existence of the springs. Just being able to provide this luxury to the omega makes his alpha roll over and purr. "There's different springs," he explains as he follows Jaskier into the room. He's already sweating from the heat. "This is the hottest one. _Don't_ touch it, it'll scald your skin right off."

Jaskier grimaces. "Lovely."

"This one is colder but might still be too hot for you. The last is safe for humans." He puts his things down on a bench by the wall, and Jaskier follows suit. Geralt shifts his weight. "Do you... I can leave, if you want, and you can-"

Jaskier's hand is on his neck, right over his scent gland, and Geralt's knees almost give way. The next moment, Jaskier is _kissing_ him, soft and chaste. It's over just as quickly as it began, and it leaves Geralt tingling from head to toe. The omega takes back his hand, and smirks at him. His cheeks are flushed, and not only from the heat. "Get your clothes off and get into the water, Geralt." With that he turns away and begins undressing himself.

Geralt has never shed his clothes quite this quickly, he's certain of it.

When he's done, he hesitates for a moment - which pool should he choose? They're big enough for five grown men to share comfortably, but he has no idea if Jaskier wants to be in the same one as him.

Jaskier solves the problem for him. "The middle one, if you please," and he says it in such a prim tone that Geralt can't hide his smile. He slides into the water with a hiss, his muscles loosening almost instantly and his eyes falling closed. _Fuck_ , he's missed this.

There's a rustle of cloth, and then the sound of bare feet on stone. Geralt opens his eyes, and sucks in a breath.

Jaskier is naked, no sheet to cover himself this time, and Geralt can't stop himself from staring. Jaskier's legs are strong, well-muscled after the weeks he's spent trailing after Geralt. They're covered in a light dusting of dark hair that Geralt itches to run his fingers through. His cock is smaller than Geralt's, but that's no surprise - alphas have bigger cocks than the other presentations, and omega cocks are notoriously the smallest. His mouth waters anyway, as he watches Jaskier ease himself into the coldest pool with a pleased sigh.

"Oh, this is _heavenly_ ," he moans, leaning back against the edge. "I'm never moving again." There are ledges carved into the stone to sit on, and Jaskier goes boneless.

Geralt huffs a laugh. "I'll just have to come down and feed you every once in a while then," he says, and Jaskier smiles, slow and lazy.

"Hmm, is that supposed to dissuade me?" His arms are floating by his sides, the water covering him all the way up to his shoulders. He looks _decadent_ like this, a far cry from the scared, underfed boy he'd been mere months ago.

"Would you like that," he asks quietly, watching closely. Jaskier's eyes crack open, just enough to see. "To have no responsibilities except feel good? To be fed and... pampered?" _Loved_ , rests on the tip of his tongue.

Jaskier chuckles. "Who _wouldn't_ like that?" His eyes close again, just as his lips part on a sigh. "You could feed me from your hand," he says softly, and Geralt sinks lower into the water. Blood is rushing to his groin, quickly, his cock filling against his thigh. "Pick the best pieces, just for me, just to take care of me."

"I'll make sure you _never_ have to go hungry again," he says, his voice hoarse and sincere. "I'll go without food before you ever have to."

Jaskier makes a soft noise, a pure omegan little mewl, and all of a sudden Geralt is rock hard. Jaskier squirms, and pulls his arms beneath the water. The scent of his arousal blooms in the air around him, and Geralt's head falls back against the ledge.

"I'll give you everything," he continues, "just ask, and it's yours." It's only half exaggerated. Whatever Jaskier wants, Geralt will do everything in his power to provide it.

" _Geralt_ ," the omega moans, and when Geralt lifts his head and looks over, it's clear that he's _touching_ , his shoulder moving as he strokes himself. Geralt groans, his hands twitching. Jaskier bites his lip. "Do you want to touch your cock," he asks, "fuck your hand for me to see?"

 _Fuck_.

"Do you _want_ to see?" He wants it, wants it so much he can taste it, his alpha howling with it, the need to show off for their mate, but if Jaskier feels even the slightest bit uncomfortable, he'd rather never touch himself again than scare him.

Jaskier looks at him for a long moment, eyes half-lidded, lips parted. Then he breathes, "Yes."

Geralt can hear his blood rushing in his ears as he heaves himself up, out of the pool to sit on the ledge. His cock hangs hard and heavy between his thighs, and Jaskier sucks in a breath, his eyes widening ever so slightly. Immediately, Geralt wants to hide beneath the water again, if it spares the omega distress. "Jaskier?"

"It's... it's fine," the boy says, eyes fixed on Geralt's cock. He doesn't move, his shoulder still, but he _looks_ , and then his tongue flicks out to wet his bottom lip. "Go on," he whispers, and Geralt spreads his thighs a little more.

He doesn't know where to look. He wants to watch Jaskier, catalogue every change of expression on his face, but he also doesn't want to sit there and stare at him as he strokes himself, like some sort of lecher. He concentrates on feeling, instead, letting his eyes close as he starts a slow rhythm, just fingers and his thumb for now, gentle and teasing. He strokes his thumb over the head and breathes, and the room is saturated with pheromones, omega and alpha, and it makes him feel lightheaded.

Jaskier sighs, so softly, and when Geralt forces his eyes open, he's moving again. One foot is propped up on the ledge he's sitting on, and from the way his body twists, Geralt knows he's not stroking himself. His hand is lower, between his legs, and Geralt groans.

"Fuck, Jaskier, you smell so good," he says, and Jaskier's breath hitches again.

Then, after a long moment of silence, he breathes, "So do you."

It takes all of Geralt's restraint to not just jump into the pool with him and have him right there. His cock twitches, spurts pre-come, and Jaskier makes a soft little noise, and Geralt _will not hurt him_ , never. He'd rather _die_.

"Does it... scare you," he asks, breathless. He knows he's big. The mutations made _everything_ bigger, after all. He's had enough bed partners complain about it before.

None were omegas, though.

None were _his mate_.

Jaskier's eyes flutter. "Yes," he breathes, but his movements don't falter. "But... a part of me wants it anyway."

Lightning shoots through Geralt's veins. His mate _wants_ his cock, wants to be _fucked_ _by him_ , and Geralt growls, his hand tightening around himself. "Fuck, Jask."

The omega makes that same little mewl as before. "I can't stop thinking about it," he admits quietly. "I've never... _wanted_ sex. I only had two heats before- Well, before, and I was too out of it to really know what it was I wanted." He licks his lips, cants his hips. "I want to know what _wanting it_ feels like."

"You can have it," Geralt groans, his strokes quicker now. Fuck, he's not going to last like this, with Jaskier saying these things, that he wants him despite all the horrors he's been through. "Whenever you want, you can have it, it's yours." _Yours alone_ , a part of him thinks, and he squeezes his eyes shut. _Fuck_. "I'd make you feel so good, Jaskier, I promise." He's leaking steadily now, his knot half-filled already, and he forces his eyes open.

Both of Jaskier's hands are moving beneath the water now, one behind him, one between his legs. He's flushed, his breathing fast and heavy, and he's the most beautiful sight Geralt has ever seen.

His orgasm hits him out of nowhere. One moment he's staring back at Jaskier, the next his knot fills all the way, and his head falls back as he reaches with his other hand, squeezing it as he continues to stroke himself. He groans, deep and guttural, and then he's coming into the water, for what feels like hours. Jaskier moans and Geralt forces his eyes open, even as his brain turns to mush, as his orgasm sends liquid fire up and down his spine, just in time to see the way Jaskier arches his back, the hand between his legs moving furiously, and then he, too, comes with a shout. His eyes are squeezed shut, his nose scrunched up adorably, and then he collapses, all at once like a doll whose strings have been cut. He mewls again, looking back at Geralt from under heavy lids.

Geralt's orgasm just _doesn't stop._ He's never experienced this with anyone else, certainly not on his own, and he wonders if it's just because Jaskier is an omega, or because he's _his_ omega. He whimpers, on the edge of overstimulation, and Jaskier makes a soothing noise, then pushes himself across the pool. He beckons Geralt over, and he goes without a second thought, hand still tight around his knot.

He falls to his knees on the ledge, where he's closest to Jaskier, and takes the outstretched hand. Just that contact makes his vision go white, and he whines. "Jaskier..."

The omega shushes him. "You're _so_ good for me, Geralt," he murmurs, "so good and patient, _such a good alpha_ ," and Geralt is _gone_. He comes again with a shout, curling around himself as the orgasm hits him like a punch to the gut. He's dimly aware of Jaskier's thumb gently stroking the back of his hand, and he falls forward against the side of the pool, panting as he keeps spilling, seemingly endless.

Finally it stops, leaving Geralt weak and panting. Jaskier is still holding his hand, and he smells sweet and happy. Geralt finds himself purring again, and Jaskier mewls softly.

When they leave the springs, the sun is disappearing behind the surrounding mountains, and Geralt tugs the boy close.

Jaskier lets him.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! New posting schedule!  
> I am officially DONE writing this and am switching to a Mon/Wed/Fri schedule.
> 
> Warning: very superficial discussion of what happened to Jaskier

Things fall into a routine quickly. They rise with the dawn, although more often than not Jaskier just whines and clings to Geralt, so he has to hold him a bit longer, before the alpha has to drag them both out of bed or face Vesemir's ire.

Sometimes it's Geralt who has to be coaxed out of bed, because now that he finally has the omega, _his_ omega, in his arms, in his bed, it's difficult to let go.

After breakfast, it's chores, because there are always chores to be done in Kaer Morhen. Jaskier is entrusted care of the chickens, and even though they're off to a bit of a rough start, the rooster chasing him out of the enclosure to Vesemir's endless amusement, Jaskier soon takes to it. He brings his lute sometimes, plays to the chickens and Roach and the mule and the keep's donkey in their paddock while Geralt and Vesemir work in the garden, harvest the last of the vegetables and herbs before the frost kills everything off.

Vesemir watches this with no small amount of bemusement. "Serenading the chickens. Never thought I'd see that."

Geralt smirks. "A bard needs an audience."

The evenings are spent in the great hall, with the fire roaring. This, more than anything, is what Geralt thinks of as home.

After the fourth day, spent mostly collecting kindling outside the keep's walls, Jaskier nearly falls sleep straight into his stew, and Geralt gently urges him up to bed, despite the omega's protests that he's just a little tired but he doesn't need to go to bed yet, "It's barely dark out, Geralt, I'm not a _child_." When Geralt has finally convinced him to go to bed and pulled the covers up over him, Jaskier's heartbeat has slowed down in his sleep by the time Geralt closes the door behind him.

Vesemir sits by the fireplace, a book open on his knee, but he closes it when Geralt returns, marking his place with a finger. Geralt knows the look on his face.

"You want to know where I got him," he says without preamble.

"I didn't want to ask with him there," Vesemir says quietly as Geralt drops heavily into the chair beside him. "It's not my place to pry."

"But you'll pry it out of me," Geralt says. He knew this was coming. Doesn't make it easier.

"I need to know what goes on under my roof, Geralt," the old wolf says, not unkindly, and Geralt takes a deep breath.

"It was... There was a wraith. Tiny little village, poor as dirt. Couldn't pay me, the alderman said, but his brother... Maybe I'd want one of his _wares_ instead." He feels bile rise in his throat. "The man was a money lender, and a gambler. Took omegas instead of payment, and whored them out instead of paying his debts."

Vesemir doesn't say anything, but Geralt can sense his rising agitation.

"They had five boys. Jaskier was one of them, and the only one who wasn't scared of me because I was a Witcher." He scoffs. "Just because I was an alpha. So I took him."

"What happened to the others?"

"I set them free." He doesn't say how, but the implication is clear.

Vesemir shifts in his seat. "Geralt, I need to ask this. Is the boy here because he _wants_ to be? Or because he feels he owes you? Because he doesn't think he can leave? Because if so, I will lock you up in the tower and escort him back down the mountain myself."

Geralt snarls. "That's _not_ -" Vesemir gives him a stern look, and he closes his eyes, breathes through his alpha hissing, spitting mad at the threat of their omega being taken away. "That's not how it is," he says at length. "He knows I don't... _own_ him. I offered to find a place for him, in Ard Carraigh or somewhere else." His mouth twists. "I probably _should_ have done it. It's not like I can offer him anything."

The old wolf makes a thoughtful noise, taps his thumb against the leather of his book. Then he says, "You love the boy." It's a statement, the truth laid out so plainly for the first time. Geralt shudders with it.

"Yes," he replies, looks over at Vesemir. His old teacher looks back placidly, contemplative.

"But that's not all." Again, statement, not question, and Geralt looks into the fire.

"I know you don't... believe that Witchers can find mates. That we can bond. The instructors drilled it into us often enough."

Vesemir chuckles. "Pup, you should've learned by now that a lot of the things we taught you back then was a load of _shit_. Witchers don't _feel_ , Witchers don't get _involved_. Lies, all of it. Witchers not having mates is just another one we told you to make you focus on the Path."

Geralt stares. Then he opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, so he closes it again.

"If you want to mate the boy, and if _he_ wants it too, that's your choice. Just keep in mind what it entails. He will have to share your life, and all the shit that comes with being a Witcher. You could die, on any given day, and he'd be left behind. Who would take care of him?"

"You," Geralt says without hesitation. "Or Eskel."

The old Witcher raises an eyebrow. "A bold assumption."

Geralt runs a hand through his hair. " _Fuck_ , Vesemir, I'm sorry, I-"

Vesemir is smiling, and Geralt feels like a fool. Of course his family would look after his omega if something happened to him. That's how it _works_. He sighs, covers his face with a hand. "He's been through so much shit. I just... I don't understand how he can still be so- so _good_ after all that." There's a sob stuck in his throat. "How he can _trust me_ at all. He was... He was a virgin, and then he was raped, and that's all he knows, and somehow he has decided to trust me and-"

"Geralt." Vesemir leans over and puts a hand on his knee, cutting him off before Geralt can work himself into a nervous breakdown. "If he trusts you, and I can see that he does, it's because you've proven yourself to him."

"You don't know what I've done," Geralt says weakly, shame flooding through him. He thinks about the alpha whose hand he had broken, about that morning in the stable. About how he'd almost killed Jaskier's father.

"I don't need to know," Vesemir says quietly. "My opinion, and cherish this moment for I will _never_ say this again, doesn't matter in this case. It's up to Jaskier to decide whether or not you have proven yourself to be a deserving mate. And I think he has decided, even if he's not quite aware of it himself." He smiles again. "How many omegas willingly share a bed with an alpha that they don't see as their mate, do you think? Not many." The old man shrugs. "You're practically bonded already. All that's missing is the bite, and there's no hurry with that." He pats Geralt's knee. "Enjoy this, pup. Let yourself love him. I doubt he's going to run for the hills at this point."

With that, Vesemir heaves himself out of his chair and, with a final pat to Geralt's shoulder, leaves the hall. Geralt stays behind a while longer, trying to overcome his disbelief that Vesemir of all people is _encouraging_ this.

Finally he pulls himself to his feet and makes his way up to what has quickly become _their_ room, not just Geralt's. Jaskier's doublet is flung over a chair, his lute propped up in a corner, and the little notes he so often makes are littered all over the floor beside it.

Jaskier is asleep, curled up on what he has declared Geralt's side of the bed, nose pressed into Geralt's pillow. He smells soft and content, and Geralt wants to roll around in the scent, cover himself with it and never let it go.

He undresses quickly, down to his smalls, and slides under the covers behind Jaskier, pulls him against his chest. The omega hums in his sleep, then settles again, and Geralt buries his nose in the soft hair at the back of his neck.

 _Vesemir is right_ , he thinks. They're already living like mates. They're even having sex, of a sort, and even though he wishes Jaskier were comfortable enough to actually want to sleep with him, Geralt can be patient. He _will_ be patient, and if it never happens, then it won't.

It won't make him love the boy in his arms any less.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eskel, and hot springs, again.

Eskel arrives about a month after Geralt and Jaskier. He brings his own cart and another mule, and while Jaskier is slightly horrified at the prospect that they might end up butchering the mules should the winter turn out to be particularly grim, he understands well enough what it can take to survive.

They gather in the courtyard to greet Eskel, and for some reason Jaskier is more nervous than he'd been before meeting Vesemir. Maybe he had just been too exhausted then to really work himself up. Now, though, he has a full day for that, from when Vesemir announces Eskel's approach to now. Geralt wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls him close.

"It'll be alright, Jask, I promise." He doesn't entirely feel the confidence he tries to project, but he'll try anyway. A part of him worries that he had only reacted the way he did to Vesemir's proximity because the man is old, past his prime, and despite being a formidable alpha doesn't pose a threat.

Eskel is another matter entirely.

They're the same age, the same height, although Eskel is broader. Where Geralt is pale, he is dark, and where Geralt can be quiet and taciturn, Eskel likes to joke and smile, even if he tends to hide it outside of the keep, so conscious of his scars.

All in all, Eskel would be an attractive choice for any omega, and Geralt worries. Not that Eskel will steal Jaskier away, but that he won't be able to see that, won't be able to control his alpha.

He breathes, and tells himself the same thing he told Jaskier: it'll be alright.

Eskel is smiling when he walks into the courtyard, but it slides off his face when he spots Jaskier tucked into Geralt's side. Vesemir strides forward, grips Eskel's arm.

"Good to have you back, pup," he says warmly. Eskel nods, his eyes jumping back and forth between Geralt and Jaskier.

"Good to be back," he says. "I see we have a guest." Both Geralt and Vesemir see how he half turns away, hides the right side of his face. Geralt grits his teeth.

"This is Jaskier," he says, and the omega gives a little wave.

Eskel, polite as ever, gives a little half-bow. "Hello," he says, and Geralt sighs. This is not going well.

He squeezes Jaskier's shoulder and lets go, makes his way over to Eskel. He still half expects his alpha to surface, to attack Eskel, but when he clasps his brother's arm, when Eskel sighs and pulls him close by the back of his neck to press their foreheads together, nothing happens, just the warm feeling that is always there when he sees his brother again, whole and healthy.

"I missed you," he says quietly, and Eskel huffs a laugh.

"Missed you, too, wolf," he says, then breathes, so quiet that Jaskier can't hear, "An _omega_? Seriously?"

Geralt snorts and pushes the other away. "Jaskier, come here?" He holds out a hand and Jaskier comes, laces their fingers together. Eskel's eyebrows rise almost imperceptibly. "This is Eskel."

The dark haired Witcher still tries to hide his face. Jaskier smiles, still a little nervous. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Have you now," Eskel says, bemused. "Only good things I hope."

Jaskier's smile turns into a grin. "Of course."

And just like that, most of the tension drains away, together with the weight Geralt hadn't realised he'd carried, the worry that something bad would happen when Eskel arrived.

* * *

Jaskier accompanies Vesemir into the kitchen as Geralt and Eskel start unloading the cart, and it doesn't take long until Eskel clears his throat.

"So, an omega, huh? How did that happen?"

"You know how sometimes people don't have money to pay us?" Eskel nods. Of course he knows. Geralt cocks an eyebrow meaningfully, and Eskel's face falls.

"Those- _Fuck_. I can't imagine."

"Don't try. It was... It was bad, Esk. Really bad."

"Hm." Eskel pulls a sack of carrots off the cart. "But... you set him free, right?"

Geralt punches his bicep, annoyed. "What kind of a question is that? Of course I did!"

"You can't blame me for asking, Geralt. He's so fucking young still."

"I know. Fuck, I know." And he does. It's something he has thought about a lot in the wake of his conversation with Vesemir. About whether it would be fair to bind Jaskier to him, with all his life ahead of him. "But he's here because he wants to be. Fuck, I _wanted_ to leave him behind." Not the entire truth, but enough of it. "He wanted to come with me." He looks at his boots. "He says... He says he wants to _be_ with me, Eskel. And I want that. I want to mate him."

"Fuck, Geralt, you're in deep, aren't you?"

"Hm."

"Well, he seems like a good kid."

And that's all that is said on the matter. Eskel falls easily into step with the new way things work in Kaer Morhen, and Jaskier adjusts well to having another alpha around. It helps that none of the others have touched the bard at all, haven't even attempted it.

No one touches him but Geralt, and the omega actually seeks out the contact often now. Just little things: their arms brushing where they sit on the bench during their meals, a gentle slide of fingers over the back of a hand when they are busy and just passing each other by, and then Geralt's favourite -Jaskier _kisses_ him. Soft little things, an innocent press of lips to lips, without the expectation or offer of more. It's just this - a gentle expression of affection, but for Geralt it means more than any sexual act he has ever experienced before.

Geralt never initiates. He doesn't dare to try, afraid of pushing Jaskier too far, too fast.

They have sex, too, just the way they have been. Jaskier has become more comfortable around him, allowing Geralt to see him naked in the bath, sometimes shirtless in their room, but they still sit each in their own pool. It's enough; it's more than Geralt ever dared hope for.

One evening, a week after Eskel's arrival, they're in the bath again, and Jaskier gets that look on his face. It's the one Geralt recognises to mean he's trying to decide whether or not he wants to do something, and so he just sits there and waits.

Finally, Jaskier moves, from his customary spot on the other side of his pool to where he will move after his orgasm, and Geralt's heart skips. This is new.

Jaskier pats the ledge of the middle pool, beckons Geralt over. The Witcher moves, almost in a daze. Not for the first time Geralt wonders if he'd do everything the omega asked of him. He can't imagine ever denying him.

When he's sitting as close as being in two different pools allows, Jaskier smiles and sits up on his knees. He leans over the stone separating the two pools and crooks a finger at him, and Geralt goes as if pulled on a string. Jaskier's mouth is hot and wet against his, and when he pulls back after the soft, familiar press of his lips, he breathes, "Kiss me, Geralt," and Geralt makes a hurt noise in the back of his throat.

He brings a hand up to cup Jaskier's cheek, softly, carefully, and then he leans in and licks along the seam of the boy's mouth. Jaskier opens for him with a sigh. He kisses him slowly, deeply, and when Jaskier shifts on his knees, Geralt smells slick on the air. He groans into the kiss and Jaskier flinches.

Geralt lets him go immediately. "I'm sorry, that was-"

"It's alright," Jaskier says, taking his hand. His cheeks are flushed, his lips wet and kiss-swollen. He looks radiant. "I liked it, I promise." He leans closer again, his eyes fluttering closed. "Please, more," he says, and Geralt is helpless.

They kiss for a long time, longer than Geralt has ever spent just kissing someone. So far, kissing, when it had happened to him, had always only been a stepping stone, a prelude to something else, something more. Now though, with Jaskier soft and pliant for him, making such sweet sounds and smelling so delicious, he could just keep doing this forever.

Finally Jaskier pulls back, breathing heavily. He rests his forehead against Geralt's and huffs an incredulous laugh. "I'm so..." He laughs again. "I'm so _wet_ , Geralt," he says, and the Witcher has a vision of burying his face between the boy's thighs. He groans.

"Jaskier," he breathes, leans in again and kisses him, purposefully gentle. Jaskier sighs and kisses back, his tongue flicking against Geralt's lips. Fuck, he wants to bury his hands in Jaskier's hair, wants to hold him and kiss him breathless. "Can I- fuck, Jaskier, can I touch you?"

The omega grins teasingly, then presses another soft kiss to Geralt's lips. "You _are_ touching me, Witcher," he says softly, but then he takes Geralt's hand and, after a second's hesitation, presses it to his chest.

The hair beneath Geralt's palm is soft, silky, and he drags the tips of his fingers through it, so slowly. Jaskier shivers. "Alright?" The omega nods, and Geralt gently moves his hand down, until he can cup the muscle, run the pad of his thumb over Jaskier's nipple.

"Oh, that's-"

"Good?" The air is thick with arousal, and when Geralt gently rubs his nipple once more, Jaskier _moans_. So Geralt does it again, and again, switches to the other side, and Jaskier's eyes slide closed.

"Geralt, I..." His hands tremble where he's holding himself up on the ledge, and when Geralt looks down, he sees that the boy is hard, pretty pink cock flushed and leaking, and Geralt has to bite his lip on the growl that wants to burst free.

"What do you want, Jaskier?" He _can't_ just do what his body is telling him to do, no matter how much he may want it, he _has_ to wait for the omega's permission.

"I- I don't _know_ ," Jaskier gasps, his eyes squeezed shut. He's trembling all over now, and then Geralt smells the salt of his tears. Immediately he pulls his hand away; Jaskier whimpers. "No, don't- I need-" He ruts forward, against the edge of the pool, grimaces. "Geralt..."

 _Fuck_.

"Jaskier, touch yourself, go on," he grits out, and Jaskier wraps a hand around his weeping cock with a sob. Geralt watches, mesmerised. "That's it," he breathes, his hand dropping into his lap to curl around his own cock.

Again, Jaskier whines. "It's not- I need- _Please_ , Geralt, kiss me, please," and he leans over the stone ledge and just grabs Geralt by the hair and _tugs_. Geralt makes a surprised noise but goes willingly, and then Jaskier is licking into his mouth with a desperate little whimper.

Geralt doesn't know what to do. Or rather, he's sure he's not _allowed_ , not yet, and so he just lets Jaskier plunder his mouth, swallows the boy's moans and whimpers as he strokes himself. His own hand is working just as furiously, his orgasm a breath away, and then Jaskier's fingers curl even tighter into his hair and he makes a high keening noise just before he presses his forehead hard against Geralt's, and when the Witcher opens his mouth, he can _taste_ the omega's spend on the air. He growls, one hand on the ledge as the other quickens on his cock, and Jaskier pulls on his hair, pulls himself upright again even as he still shakes with the aftershocks of his orgasm.

"Geralt, yes, good, _so_ good, look so good when you come, alpha," and at that his eyes flash open and he rears back, slaps a hand over his mouth. He looks mortified, but Geralt can't concentrate on that, that single word uttered in Jaskier's sex-rough voice enough to punch an orgasm out of him that leaves him blind and deaf.

He shakes and shakes through it, reaching weakly for Jaskier who has darted back to the other side of the pool in a horrible caricature of how this usually goes, and then he's clambering out of the pool, grabbing a sheet.

"Jaskier, wait," is all Geralt can force out, his body not obeying him as his pleasure drags on and on, and he can only watch helplessly as Jaskier wrenches open the door and runs, almost naked and barefoot, out into the snow that has started to fall while they were in the bath. The door falls closed, and Geralt rolls to his back, shivering as he waits for the burning in his loins to stop.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wolves don't play around, y'all.

When Geralt can walk again, he pulls on his trousers without even bothering to dry off first and then follows Jaskier's tracks across the courtyard and into the keep. _At least he went inside_ , he thinks, not out of the keep and into the steadily falling snow.

The keep is eerily silent, and the others are suspiciously absent, until he races up the steps to the bedrooms. Eskel and Vesemir are standing in front of the door to his room, talking quietly, but both fall silent when he appears.

"Is he-"

Eskel moves in front of the door, and Vesemir in front of him, and Geralt's hackles go up, his alpha roaring to life. Vesemir fixes him with a steely look. "He came racing into the keep almost naked and crying. Locked himself in your room."

Geralt snarls. _Fuck_.

"What happened, Geralt?" Eskel is scowling, blocking almost the entire door with his body, and Geralt has a vivid, horrible vision of taking his brother by the throat and slamming him back against the wood.

"Nothing happened," he growls, "he wanted it."

It's not until he sees the shock on the others' faces that he realises what he just said, what it sounds like, and he takes a step back, even as his alpha snarls and spits, goads him to just go, get past the other alphas _who gave them the fucking **right**_ to get to the omega.

"No, _wait_ , that's not- Fuck!"

"What did you do, Geralt?" Eskel again, and now there's a growl in his voice, an implicit threat, and Geralt just can't _stop_ , can't keep from snarling at the other, his own growl rising in his chest.

"Eskel, stop," comes Jaskier voice through the door, rough from crying, and Geralt's ire dissipates and he whines.

" _Jaskier_ -"

"Shut up, Geralt," Vesemir snaps at him, and then he waves Eskel away from the door. "Are you alright, pup?"

There's a tense moment of silence before Jaskier answers, "Yes."

"Did Geralt hurt you?"

"No." This time there is no hesitation, and Eskel's shoulders relax ever so slightly.

"Alright, that's good. Do you want to come out?"

"No." A pause, then, "I want to talk to Geralt."

Vesemir gives him a calculating look, and Geralt bows his head in what he hopes is a convincing show of submission. His alpha doesn't like that _at all_ but he knows it's what he needs to do if he wants to have any chance of salvaging this. The old Witcher's eyes narrow ever so slightly. "We'll stay close. Call for us if you need." The implication is clear - if Geralt were to harm even a single hair on Jaskier's head, neither Vesemir nor Eskel would hesitate to stop him.

Geralt stands there, still more or less dripping wet, and waits for them to move. They only go as far as the end of the corridor, eyes fixed on him, and with a deep breath, Geralt walks over to the door of his room. "Jaskier?"

For the first time since they came to the keep - since Ard Carraigh, actually - Jaskier stinks of distress, and Geralt whines. There's a shuffling from inside, footsteps as Jaskier paces. Then the door is wrenched open, and Geralt freezes. He had been expecting to have this conversation through the door, but there is Jaskier, staring up at him. He has pulled on a shirt and loose breeches, and he looks determined. From the corner of his eye, he can see Vesemir and Eskel stiffen.

"Are you going to come in or not," Jaskier asks, then turns around and walks over to sit on the bed. Geralt stands there for a second longer, then walks inside. He leaves the door open.

"Jaskier, I'm sorry, I-"

The omega holds up a hand, silencing him. "You have nothing to apologise for. It wasn't anything you did. I... I scared _myself_." He chews on his lip for a moment, then takes a shuddering breath. "Lucas made us call the men he sent to us alpha. We weren't told names, just that they were our alpha and we had to show them _respect_."

Fuck.

"I was so... caught up in what we did, and it felt so _good_ , and saying it- It felt _right_ , and then it felt so bloody wrong." His shoulders rise, towards his ears, the way they did so often in the beginning. "I thought I was going to throw up on you after I realised what I'd said." He shudders. "I've said it to you before but... this felt different, and it scared me."

Geralt draws a deep breath and rubs a hand over his face. "Can I... Can I approach?" He can hear Eskel and Vesemir shift their weight outside, ready to intervene. Jaskier hesitates for a moment, then nods and scoots over, making place for him on the bed beside him.

Instead, Geralt kneels at his feet. Jaskier's breath catches.

"I don't expect you to call me that," he says quietly. Jaskier's hands are curled into the bedsheets. "I won't deny that I... liked hearing it, but that's irrelevant. You've been through so much shit, Jaskier, and I don't want anything that isn't freely given."

The omega stares at him, eyes brimming with tears, and then he's in his lap, arms thrown around Geralt's neck, kissing him. For a second Geralt is too stunned to react, but then he winds his arms around the boy and holds him close. Jaskier gasps and cries and presses kisses all over his cheeks and mouth. "Gods, why are you so _good_ ," he whines, and goes back to kissing every part of Geralt's face that he can reach.

Out in the corridor, the others breathe an audible sigh of relief before they retreat down the steps, and Geralt holds Jaskier a little tighter.

* * *

Jaskier starts flagging soon after, exhausted from the emotional stress, and Geralt gently coaxes him into bed. "Can you eat something?"

The boy shakes his head wearily. "No, I'm... I feel a little sick, actually."

"Hm." He puts a gentle palm against Jaskier's forehead. "You feel warm."

"I'm fine. Just..." He chews on his lip again. "Could you- Stay? Until I'm asleep?"

"I'll stay as long as you like," Geralt replies and sits, leaning against the headboard. Jaskier immediately crawls under his arm, winding his arms around Geralt's waist, heedless of Geralt's bare chest. He's warm and soft against his side, and Geralt lets his hand rest on his shoulder. "You're safe here," Geralt murmurs. "We'll protect you. All of us." Vesemir and Eskel proved that. If they reacted this intensely to Geralt, may the gods have mercy on any outsider who tries to harm Jaskier.

The omega hums and snuggles closer. "I know. It's just... I get stuck in my head." He grimaces, then hides his face against Geralt's ribs. His breath puffs over the skin, hot and wet. "It's an unpleasant place to be sometimes."

"Hm." Geralt is well acquainted with nightmares and self-doubt. "Go to sleep, Jask, it's been a long day."

Jaskier yawns, as if just reminded of the fact, then rubs his cheek against Geralt's chest. "I like it when you call me that," he murmurs, then digs his nose between his ribs. "Hmm, you smell _so good_ ," and from the sound of it he's already half asleep.

Geralt sits there for a long time, listening to Jaskier's slow breaths and running his fingers through the boy's hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to take this opportunity to encourage everyone to go back and have a look at the tags. For no particular reason.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lambert, amongst other things, returns.
> 
> Also, can I scream for a second? 1k kudos?? I'm... speechless. Thank you all so, so much. ❤❤❤

With the snows starting in earnest, things become a little hectic in the keep. Everything needs to be secured before the inevitable storms hit, and it's all a bit of a mad dash. It doesn't help that Jaskier starts feeling poorly, sending Geralt into a spiral of worry. Did he cause this by bringing the rather fragile human up here? Did the boy catch something from his flight from the springs?

When he asks Vesemir about it, the old wolf rolls his eyes. "Humans get sick sometimes," he says, "that's just what happens. Keep him in bed, keep him warm, and it should pass in a couple of days."

It does not pass. Jaskier develops a low level fever and refuses most food, and Geralt _worries_. The omega waves off his fussing.

"It's probably just a cold, Geralt. It happens."

A day before the trail up to the keep becomes impassable, Vesemir finally spots Lambert making his way up. He tells them over breakfast with a shake of his head. "That boy always cuts it too close, just to be dramatic."

Jaskier snickers into the broth Geralt had talked him into drinking at least, and it eases his mind somewhat. If he's laughing, he's not dying. Right?

* * *

Lambert approaches just as the sun dips behind the surrounding mountains, and Vesemir goes outside to meet him. Eskel and Geralt stay in the hall, mending clothes, while Jaskier disappeared into the library.

"I'll be fine," he'd said when Geralt protested that, with his fever, he shouldn't be alone. What if he faints? "I'm not a child, and I'm not dying, despite what your instincts may be telling you." And with that he'd swanned out of the hall, leaving Geralt behind feeling like a fool.

"Boy's got you whipped," Eskel remarked smugly, and Geralt threw a sock at his head.

Half an hour later the front door bangs open, to an immediate admonition from Vesemir, and a short while later, the youngest wolf stomps into the hall, still dressed in his travel gear. He stops in the doorway, sniffs the air, and asks, "Why the fuck does it smell like a fucking _brothel_ in here?" He doesn't even bother with a greeting as he strides into the hall with Vesemir, shaking snow off his cloak. Geralt ducks his head and concentrates on the sock he's darning.

Eskel snorts. "Charming as ever, Lamb."

"Shut it. What's that smell?"

"That would be Geralt's omega," Eskel says placidly.

There's a pause, then Lambert says, disbelief heavy in his voice, "Why does _Geralt_ get an _omega_?"

"Payment. Village didn't have money," Geralt mumbles, and Lambert scoffs.

"Of course the pretty boy would get lucky like this."

Jaskier picks that moment to saunter back into the hall, nose buried in a book, and Lambert sucks in air through his nose before making an odd choking noise and slapping a hand over his nose and mouth. "What the _fuck_ , how can the three of you stand this?"

Jaskier looks up, startled by the newcomer and confused at his outburst. Geralt feels the same, as does Eskel, judging by the look on his face. "Stand what," Eskel asks, and Lambert gives him an incredulous look.

"He fucking _reeks_ of pre-heat."

Jaskier looks at him sharply, eyes wide. "What? No, that can't be, I haven't had a heat in... years..." He trails off, realisation dawning on him, and the book falls from suddenly limp hands.

Vesemir and Eskel come to the same conclusion Geralt does, judging by the way Eskel sucks in a breath, and Vesemir's hand curls into a fist by his side. Geralt, for his part, snarls.

Lucas suppressed the omegas' heats. He must have, maybe mixed something into their food. Cheaper than paying for abortions, and less of a hassle than having to deal with alphas accidentally going into rut while... _Fuck_.

Jaskier's eyes cut over to Geralt, and the hall stinks of distress all of sudden. "I- Geralt, I-" His lower lip wobbles.

Vesemir is already turning towards the corridor. "Geralt, get him upstairs. I'll get a room ready."

Jaskier lets himself be led up to Geralt's room, his face pinched and his scent sour beneath the now undeniable aroma of pre-heat. He's worrying his lip between his teeth. "It'll be alright," Geralt says, not entirely sure of it himself.

Witchers were, as a rule, alphas, but every rule has an exception, and so Kaer Morhen had a handful of heat rooms from when the keep had been brimming with Witchers, a handful of them omegas. Geralt barely remembers those days. The last omega Witcher had died on the Path a few years after Geralt's second round of the trials, and he had been in no state to pay attention to things like presentation back then.

He can't believe he misread the signs. Jaskier must have been in pre-heat all this time. It explains the fever, the lack of an appetite. They must all have been too used to his scent to recognise the slow change to it. Fuck.

"We'll get you to the heat room, get you supplies and then you can-"

Jaskier wraps himself around his arm all of a sudden. " _No_ , please, I can't- Not alone! It'll hurt, Geralt, it'll hurt _so bad_ , I can't-" He stinks, of distress, of panic, and Geralt presses his lips together.

He wants to share Jaskier's heat so much he can taste it. He's already growing hard just thinking about it. He's also, unfortunately, very aware of Jaskier's prior history with alphas, and even though the boy felt safe enough to come spend the winter with nothing but alphas around, with sharing Geralt's bed and touching himself in front of him, being in the almost mindless state a heat can bring must be terrifying.

"Jaskier," he says as gently as he can, prying the omega's hands off of his arm, "you don't really want me there. That's the heat talking."

Jaskier starts crying. Fuck. "I know," he sobs. "I don't- I don't want _any_ of this." He sniffles, wipes at his eyes. "I can't do it alone, Geralt. I didn't have a heat the entire time I was- _Four years_. It will be brutal, and I'll need an alpha, whether I want it or not." He shuffles, tears still running down his cheeks. "And if it has to happen, I want it to be you."

He's not strong enough, Geralt realises. He should say no. Have Vesemir make a potion that will knock the omega out for the duration of his heat, or... _something_. Anything. Locking himself into a room with Jaskier, slick and ripe and mindless with need- Fuck. That sounds like a recipe for disaster if he's ever heard of one.

But Geralt is weak, and so he says, "Alright."

* * *

It takes Vesemir and the others about an hour to get the heat room habitable again, to gather enough food and water for the coming days. They collect every blanket they can find except for their own, every fur and pillow tucked away somewhere. If Jaskier has to suffer what promises to be a truly horrible heat under the Witchers' care, they'll make sure he has the best nest he could ask for.

By the time Eskel comes to tell them the room is ready, Jaskier is drenched in sweat and weak as a kitten. The slightly spicy scent that Geralt now recognises as pre-heat has already given way to the heavy one of a full-blown heat. Eskel frowns, a hand over his mouth and nose. "He looks bad, Geralt. This is going to be intense. Painful."

"I know." He watches Jaskier, who is curled up beneath one of Geralt's blankets, shivering and crying silently.

Eskel gives him a long look. "What happened to the man who... owned him? You never said."

Geralt keeps his eyes on Jaskier, on the flush in his cheeks, the tears trailing over them. "I dealt with him," is all he says, and it's all the answer Eskel needs.

"Good," he says. He watches Jaskier for a long moment, then he asks, "When was your last rut?"

 _Fuck_. "Spring," Geralt replies, and damn, that was something he hadn't even thought of. Jaskier's heat could easily trigger his rut.

Eskel's lips thin. "We'll keep watch." The meaning is clear: if Geralt goes feral, they'll be there before he can hurt the boy.

Geralt ends up carrying Jaskier to the heat room; there's no way he can walk. Inside, there's a roaring fire that has already chased most of the chill from the room, and a veritable mountain of blankets and furs arranged into the best approximation of a nest one could expect three alpha Witchers to come up with. He lays Jaskier down in it gently. Eskel had trailed behind them and now stands outside.

"If you need anything, just call for us. And-" He cuts himself off, but Geralt lifts his brows at him, so Eskel sighs and continues, "Be good to him, Geralt. He needs it, and he needs it from you." And with that, Eskel pulls the door closed. The lock clicks shut with an ominous finality.

The room is silent, deep in the belly of the keep, just the crackle of the fire and Jaskier's quiet whimpers. Geralt closes his eyes and breathes for a moment, tries to center himself. He can do this.

"Geralt?" Jaskier's voice is muffled, slurred, and Geralt steels himself and walks over to kneel by the nest. The omega is damp with sweat and shivering with it, tears still leaking from his eyes. "Please," he whispers, "it _hurts_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, Lambert is the only one of these idiots with recent (and that means within the last century, _Vesemir_ ) experience with omegas. 🤷


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Jaskier's heat starts in earnest, and he does and says some things he probably wouldn't otherwise

Geralt draws a shuddering breath. The room is already saturated with the scents of heat, an animal need and slick, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment to block it all out.

When he opens them again, Jaskier has rolled onto his side, one hand stretched in his direction weakly. "Please help me," he whines.

Fuck, this is progressing far too quickly. Still... "May I enter your nest, omega?"

Jaskier _growls_ , and a bolt of lust shoots through Geralt. "Get over here right now and help me," Jaskier hisses, and Geralt scrambles to obey.

He pulls his shirt over his head as he crawls into the nest, and Jaskier watches him with hooded eyes, too weak to undress himself. Geralt hesitates over his breeches for a moment, but Jaskier whimpers, shudders as his stomach cramps, and the Witcher shoves the garment down his legs.

Carefully, he reaches for Jaskier's trousers, a question in his eyes, and the omega shudders again. "Just do it, I- I can't."

Geralt grits his teeth. This is all wrong, not how this was supposed to go. Another thing that is his fault, he thinks as he gently peels Jaskier out of his sweat-drenched clothes. He should've thought of this, shouldn't have ignored basic biology like that. Omegas have heats, that's a fact, it was going to happen sooner or later. The only consolation is that Vesemir and Eskel had apparently also not thought of it.

When Jaskier is naked before him, he holds a hand out, and Geralt pulls him up. For a moment, the bard kneels there, swaying slightly. His eyes are even glassier with fever than before, his face red and wet with sweat and tears. He takes a deep breath and drops forward onto his hands, then, muscles shaking, lowers himself until his shoulders touch the furs. Then he reaches back and hooks his hands behind his knees.

Waiting.

 _Presenting_.

 _Fuck_.

Geralt's body is screaming at him to move, to _take the omega breed the bitch_ , and it only gets worse the longer he looks. The wide shoulders pressed against the furs, the perfect arch of his back, Jaskier's hole, already dripping with slick - it's the perfect temptation.

He has never fucked an omega before, much less one in heat. Omega whores are pricey, and impossible to pay for for a Witcher. The room smells like a meadow, flowery and sweet, with the sharp undercurrent of Jaskier's fever and anxiety, and it makes his head spin.

"Jaskier," he croaks, and his hand trembles as he reaches out, gently places it on the omega's lower back. Jaskier shivers. "You don't have to-"

His alpha is still howling, near rabid with the need to mount, to _fuck_ , to **own** , but Geralt can't do that. He _can't_. Jaskier trusts him.

He hooks gentle hands under Jaskier's arms and pulls him up, back to Geralt's chest. Jaskier makes a soft keening sort of noise, and Geralt winds an arm around him and holds him close. His face is so close to the boy's scent glands like this, and his teeth ache in his mouth. "You don't have to... present for me," he forces out, and Jaskier shivers. He presses back, his arse directly against Geralt's throbbing cock, the heat and slick of him so very close, and it takes all of Geralt's willpower to force his alpha down.

"Geralt, please," Jaskier breathes, and Geralt groans, pushes his forehead against the boy's shoulder. Then he turns him around. Jaskier is flushed, feverish, his eyes shining with it, and as soon as he's facing the Witcher, he throws his arms around his neck and presses his lips to Geralt's. Calling it a kiss would be generous, with how sloppy and uncoordinated it is, but it's still a good kiss, simply because it's Jaskier. "Please, I need it, it hurts so much," he whimpers against the Witcher's mouth, his hips rocking against him, Jaskier's cock hard between them.

"Sssh, it's alright," Geralt says, trying to ignore the way his voice trembles. He holds Jaskier by the waist, and then slides one hand down, over the swell of his arse; Jaskier whines and arches his back, pressing into his hand. There's no turning back now, if there ever was.

Jaskier is scorching against his fingers, dripping wet and, fuck, _open_. Ready, for him. If he were a human alpha, he could probably just... push himself inside, no preparation necessary. The thought is dangerous, _tempting_. Geralt has never experienced this, and it hits him entirely unprepared, the strength of his desire so overwhelming he's shaking with it.

He can't. He _mustn't_.

"Jaskier, can I-"

Jaskier answers by reaching behind himself, grabbing Geralt's hand and angling his hips, and all of a sudden two of his fingers are inside the omega; Jaskier shouts, his back arching impossibly, and Geralt has to hold him close so he doesn't topple off of his lap. "Fuck," Jaskier gasps, and then he's moving, fucking himself on Geralt's fingers like a man possessed.

He's still crying, and Geralt nuzzles his jaw gently, making soothing noises in the back of his throat.

It doesn't take long until Jaskier begs for more. That's the only word that sounds correct: beg. He asks for it as though Geralt is going to refuse him, "Please, please, I need more, please, I'll be good," and that's what hurts the most to hear. This reminder that Jaskier has had to behave a certain way to be treated with some common fucking decency.

"I got you, Jask, it's alright. Take what you need." He's not sure the omega can even hear him, and he works a third finger into him, as gently as he can, stretches him slowly and carefully.

His alpha has, surprisingly, calmed down now that it senses that this is really happening, that there is no hurry. Geralt doesn't know how he feels about that.

Jaskier is bouncing up and down on his lap, trying to get more, deeper, more, _more, **more**_ , and he starts sobbing, near incoherent with need. "Please," he gasps, his face twisting, "please fuck me, it hurts so much," and Geralt's breath shudders out of him.

"Jaskier," he says, as calmly as he can, but gets no reaction. Jaskier is too far gone, sobbing and writhing in his arms, and Geralt grits his teeth. "Come here," he says and pulls his fingers free to Jaskier's cry of protest, reaches between their legs and takes hold of his cock, coating the tip in Jaskier's slick. "I got you," he rumbles, and guides himself into Jaskier.

The effect isn't instantaneous but it's a near thing. Jaskier goes rigid when Geralt first pushes inside, trembling, his eyes and mouth wide open in shock, and then he just... goes soft and pliant, rubbing his face against Geralt's shoulder like a cat. "Hmm, _alpha_ ," he mewls, and Geralt tilts back his head and stares at the ceiling, teeth pressed together so tightly it hurts. He has a sudden, horrible vision of what would have happened if Lucas hadn't suppressed the omega's heat, what behaving this way with one of his rapists would have done to Jaskier.

It would have destroyed him.

"I got you, Jask," he rasps again, his hands tight on the omega's waist, just holding him there. Jaskier keeps rubbing his face against him, his shoulder, his throat and neck, coating himself in Geralt's scent and spreading his own all over Geralt in the process. His alpha purrs and purrs and purrs, and Geralt can feel the effect the scenting has, that heaviness that creeps into his mind, making everything soft and a little hazy.

It's a defense mechanism, he knows that, an instinctual action omegas employ to protect themselves from harm in situations like these. Part of him hopes that it's also because Jaskier likes his scent, wants it on him.

He grits his teeth again. Hope is a good breakfast but a bad supper.

Jaskier is content like this for a while, just sitting on Geralt's cock, and it's for the best, really. Like this, gravity does most of the work for them, stretching the omega slowly. Geralt strokes his back and holds him close, despite how much his every instinct is telling him to stop wasting time, that he needs to take the omega before someone comes and takes him away.

Finally, Jaskier starts to move, slow little rolls of his hips accompanied by soft mewling noises that make Geralt's lips curl back from his teeth, and soon he's bouncing up and down in Geralt's lap with vigour, eyes closed and a blissed out expression on his face as he chases release. Geralt keeps a tight rein on his own arousal, hardly daring to look at the boy in his lap, fucking himself so perfectly on his cock.

And then Jaskier starts _talking_ , a constant stream of slurred praise and encouragement, and Geralt nearly bites through his lip.

"Yes, alpha, _yes_ , feel so good in me, _such a good alpha cock_ , I need it so bad, are you gonna give me your knot, alpha, please, _please knot me_ , pump me full, I need it _I need it_ I need..."

He tries to tune it out, tries with all his might. But he's only a man, a man cursed with extraordinarily acute senses, and the whole air is saturated with omega pheromones. Jaskier is naked in his lap, so tight on his cock, his slick dripping down both their thighs, and Geralt winds his arms around him and holds him close, saying his name over and over like a prayer. He's begging for permission, for forgiveness, because he knows he can't resist. This was a mistake, and he can only hope that it will not cost him Jaskier's trust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to go swimmingly. 🙃


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: both of them are fully in their heat/rut headspace and say and do a lot of questionable things. Geralt's self-loathing is there the entire time.

Jaskier mewls, writhing in his hold, clenching around him, and Geralt groans, presses his forehead against Jaskier's. "Please, alpha, _please_ give it to me, I've been good, haven't I?" He throws his arms around the Witcher's neck again, tries rolling his hips. "Please, it hurts, I need your knot, I'm so _empty_..."

Something snaps inside Geralt, and he can't help but think of it as his alpha's leash. His vision narrows, all of his senses filled with _Jaskier omega heat **mate**_ and he growls and leans forward, until Jaskier falls backwards into the nest with a cry. Geralt looms over him, grabs him by the hips as he slides back into him; Jaskier arches off the ground, his mouth falling open. "You want to get fucked so bad? I'll fuck you, boy, give you my knot until your belly gets round with me," he says, even as his mind screams at him to _shut up shut up **shut up**_.

Jaskier moans at the first proper thrust, and Geralt growls. The omega scrabbles at his arms, his nails biting into Geralt's skin. " _Yes_ , alpha," he gasps, "yes, please, give it to me, stuff me full with your knot," and Geralt draws back only to fuck into Jaskier again, and again, and again, the omega moaning with every roll of Geralt's hips.

It's exquisite, the tight clutch of Jaskier's hole perfect around him, his cries and moans just what the alpha craves, and it's torture, because Geralt knows that the omega doesn't really want it, that he would _never_ say these things if he were in his right mind.

He's too warm, his skin too tight, and it takes him far too long to realise that this must be it, he must be in rut, months too early. But that doesn't explain the way he's feeling, acting. It's almost like he's been Axii'd, like he has no control over what he's saying and doing. It horrifies him, and yet he is powerless to stop himself.

The worst part is how fucking _good_ it feels.

Jaskier holds onto him as Geralt fucks him, moaning shamelessly with every thrust, his head thrown back against the furs and his eyes squeezed shut. He's still feverish, something Geralt knows will only subside for a time after he's been knotted, but he gasps and moans and tilts his hips so prettily, and he feels so hot and wet and tight, and Geralt _hates_ himself for liking it.

He can feel his knot filling out, can feel his orgasm approaching, but it's too early, it _must_ be too early, he'll hurt Jaskier, and he fights with everything he has, tries to fight back his alpha. He succeeds, for a moment, and he groans, "Jaskier, tell me to stop, _please_ make me stop, I _can't_ -"

Jaskier just coos and _oh gods **no**_ tilts his head to the side, baring his unmarked throat. "Alpha," he croons, "knot me, please, my hole needs it so much," and Geralt is lost. The already tenuous grip he had on his body slips, and then he's shoving his knot into the boy, and Jaskier digs his fingers into his shoulders as he screams with it. He _keeps_ screaming, eyes squeezed shut, and Geralt _pulls back_ , his knot popping free again, and he pushes it back into Jaskier with a snarl. Jaskier's voice breaks, the scream cutting off abruptly, and when Geralt looks down, Jaskier is coming, his cock spurting come between them, and Geralt just keeps going, he fucks his knot in and out of Jaskier for four more excruciatingly exquisite thrusts, until it's too big to pull out and Jaskier locks around him.

Geralt's world explodes around him as he comes with a roar. He bends down, and through his haze, he realises what his alpha intends, and he wrenches control back with sudden desperation, redirects his teeth into his own arm instead of Jaskier's throat. The pain makes him jerk and, _somehow_ , come harder, and beneath him, Jaskier winces.

The haze, the rut-induced fog, clears all at once, and Geralt shakes his head, as though to chase away an annoying insect.

Jaskier is staring up at him with his blue, blue eyes, and Geralt wants to _die_.

"Jaskier," he croaks, his eyes burning, and Jaskier's mouth twitches. Geralt trembles; he's still coming, it just doesn't stop, _how is it not stopping_ \- "Fuck, Jaskier, I'm sorry-"

The omega shakes his head. His thumb rubs against the line of Geralt's collarbone. "Don't, Geralt. Don't apologise."

"I _hurt_ you. I almost bit you!"

"But you didn't," Jaskier replies. "You easily could have." He moves his hand, reaches for the bite in Geralt's arm, strokes soft fingertips around it; Geralt shivers. "I asked you to do this. I asked you to spend my heat with me because I-" He stops, presses his lips together.

"Because you didn't have a choice, Jaskier," Geralt spits, bitter with the reality of it. His orgasm has finally, mercifully, stopped. "I know you didn't want to... to have sex with me."

Jaskier shoves him, his mouth twisting when the motion tugs at the knot. "Fuck you," he hisses. His whole body is tense now, and he looks like he's going to cry again. "I wanted to! I _want_ to! I was just scared that I'd... go back, in my head, to what happened before. And I didn't want to risk that." His mouth twists again. "I didn't want to keep disappointing you," he says quietly.

 _Fuck_.

"Jaskier, you have never disappointed me. You couldn't, especially not by telling me no."

The omega scoffs. "I know you've wanted this for a long time. You might tell yourself you could've waited and waited and _waited_ , but we both know that's not what would have happened." He smiles, a painful, bitter thing. "You're an alpha, you can't help the draw of a ripe omega."

Geralt wants to protest, wants to say that, no, he _would_ have waited, would have _never_ gone further than Jaskier allowed. But he knows the words would ring hollow when he's knot deep inside the omega, when he said those horrible things to him.

"I should have noticed what was happening," Jaskier continues quietly. "The fever, the way you smelled _so fucking good_ , even better than usual. I should have left."

"How could you have known? How? You haven't had a heat in years, and how old were you last time? Seventeen?" Jaskier presses his lips together, and it's all the answer he needs. "None of this is your fault. I'm- I should have been stronger, should have-"

Jaskier covers his face with his hands, and starts to shake. Geralt almost panics before he realises he's laughing.

"Gods," Jaskier says after a while, still chuckling, "we're so fucked up, Geralt." And then he smiles up at him, brushes his fingers over Geralt's jaw, like nothing is wrong, like they're just... just lovers, sharing a private joke.

"I'm sorry," Geralt murmurs, leaning into the touch without even noticing, "for the things I said to you. I couldn't- I just couldn't _stop_."

"I know," Jaskier breathes. "But it doesn't matter. I don't care. I trust you, and the things that come out of our mouths during this... They don't mean anything."

 _Except they do_ , Geralt thinks. They matter because he's been wanting this for such a long time. His hormones don't put words into his mouth, they just remove his filter, just like the heat strips Jaskier of all inhibitions, reduces him to pure animal need.

Jaskier wriggles a little under him. "How long until this," he clenches around his knot, making them both moan, "goes down?"

"Ten minutes? Hard to say." He has no idea what to expect from this rut, having never spent one with an omega. "How long before your next wave?"

In answer, the boy shudders. "Not long," he breathes, and Geralt can almost watch his eyes grow glassy again. _Fuck_. "Geralt?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't want you to feel guilty for this," he murmurs. His hands have taken on a life of their own, pawing at Geralt's chest weakly. "I need this, and I asked you for your help. Just do what needs to be done."

Geralt closes his eyes, breathes harshly through his nose. "You can't-"

"Geralt," Jaskier says, and then one hand is on Geralt's cheek, pulling his face down to his. His fever is spiking already. "Please don't make me beg," he says, lips brushing over Geralt's, "not like this."

Gods, he doesn't deserve this, this blind trust, this _faith_ Jaskier has in him, but Jaskier is kissing him, licking into his mouth and making soft little noises of pleasure, and so Geralt will do everything in his power to prove himself worthy. Soon Jaskier's mouth becomes sloppy against his, and by the time Geralt's knot goes down, the omega is nearly incoherent again. Geralt grits his teeth and tries to tune out the returning refrain of, "Please, alpha, _please fuck me_ , I need your fat cock, please!"

He has a job to do.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: injury, dubious consent up to here. Jaskier is pretty out of it and Geralt doesn't deal well.

It gets worse.

The breaks between Jaskier's waves seem to be getting _shorter_ instead of longer, like they're supposed to, and by the time dawn breaks outside, Geralt's arms are littered with bites. The furs and blankets are a disgusting mess of slick and semen, sweat and blood, and even though Jaskier is barely conscious, he won't stop begging for Geralt to fuck him.

Geralt tries to refuse him at some point over the hungry roaring of his alpha, tries to get him to sleep, to _rest_ , but Jaskier snarls and, with a burst of strength born from utter desperation, pushes him. Geralt, tired himself despite his enhanced stamina, falls on his arse, sprawled against the side of the nest, and then Jaskier is in his lap again, sinking down onto his cock with a cry of pure bliss. He digs his fingernails into Geralt's chest and rides him, eyes closed and jaw slack.

Geralt just... lets him. He'll have to stop at _some_ point, his body can't keep this up forever.

Jaskier fucks himself to orgasm twice before Geralt can't refuse his pleas for his knot any longer, and when he grabs Jaskier by the hips and pulls him down onto his knot, the boy only manages a weak, satisfied whimper.

Then he passes out, toppling forward onto Geralt's chest, almost headbutting him straight in the face.

 _Finally_ , Geralt thinks, his own mind hazy with the orgasm he's pumping into the boy and simple exhaustion. He feels almost guilty for the thought. He knows Jaskier has no control over this, knows that he's in debilitating pain whenever his instincts aren't satisfied, but Geralt is reaching the end of his rope despite his rut. This is not normal, even he who has never shared an omega's heat before knows that.

He's roused from his thoughts by a light knock on the door, and immediately his hackles go up. Who _dares_ intrude on their den?

"It's me, pup," comes Vesemir's voice, and Geralt relaxes, somewhat. "Can we talk?"

"About what?"

There's a pause. "Can I open the door? I won't come in."

Geralt's alpha is not pleased with the idea but he doesn't give a fuck what it thinks. "Alright."

The door opens slowly, letting in a cool breeze. Vesemir presses a cloth to his nose and mouth, and even despite that his eyes widen slightly and he takes a step back. "Fuck," he grunts, and that tells Geralt just how serious this is. The old wolf hardly ever curses like that.

"What did you want," he asks, and he can't keep the growl out of his voice.

"How is he doing? Eskel said you haven't really... stopped."

So they're taking it in shifts to keep watch. Smart. "He's not getting better. The time between his waves keeps getting shorter and he won't... He won't _rest_ , or eat, Vesemir. He's barely lucid." He looks down at Jaskier, sprawled atop him, still just as tight around his knot as he had been the first time. "He passed out."

Vesemir's face is pinched. "I was afraid this would happen." The man's shoulders tighten. "His body wants him to mate, Geralt." He looks down at Geralt's arms, at the bloody mess they have become. "And I'm afraid he won't get better without it."

"No," Geralt forces out, even as his alpha howls out _yes yes **yes**_. "I can't- I can't _do_ that to him, Vesemir. I won't bind him to me against his will."

Vesemir's voice is full of pity when he says, "You might not have the luxury of your convictions, Geralt. Not if you want him to survive this." And with that he closes the door again, leaving Geralt to stare up at the ceiling with burning eyes.

* * *

When his knot goes down, Geralt gently moves Jaskier off of him, settles him onto the furs. Like this, he looks almost peaceful.

Geralt's gaze wanders. Jaskier's face is still shiny with sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead, his cheeks rosy with his fever. There's blood splattered on his chest and arms from where Geralt bled on him, and his stomach is sticky with his seed, slightly distended with how much of Geralt's is inside him (and fuck, that realisation shouldn't make something in him hum with pleasure but it _does_ ).

He looks beautiful and tragic and Geralt wants nothing more than to release him from this horrible state he's in. But biting him? Mating him, to Geralt, for the rest of his life? No, he can't do that, no matter how much he wants to.

Jaskier hasn't agreed to it, and so he won't.

Geralt heaves himself to his feet, taken off guard by the way his knees wobble and his head spins. _Fuck_ , the boy has taken it out of him to a degree he didn't think possible.

The supplies the others collected for them - food and drink, rags and water to clean themselves - have all been set up on a table by the hearth, and Geralt drains half a pitcher of water in one go, then scarfs down two rolls and an apple. He thinks about trying to wake up Jaskier to see if he can get some food and water into him, but he decides not to. The omega needs his rest.

Instead he wets a rag and wipes himself down perfunctorily, even as his alpha protests _smells like our omega keep the scen_ t. Then he wets a second one and returns to the nest. He gently wipes the sweat and tear tracks from Jaskier's face, the come from his chest and stomach. Jaskier whimpers softly, and only settles down when Geralt purrs. Then he rolls Jaskier to his side, gently, carefully, pulls his leg up.

 _Fuck_.

Jaskier looks _wrecked_. His hole is fucked open and raw, wet and leaking. There is no way it can feel good any more, and yet - when Geralt wipes the come away as carefully as he can, Jaskier _moans_ and tilts his hips back, even as completely out of it as he is.

Geralt doesn't believe in the gods, not really, but he knows he's going straight to whatever hell there may be. Because he slowly drags the rag over Jaskier's hole again, and when the omega whimpers something that sounds suspiciously like, "Alpha," his cock twitches.

He can't. He _can't_.

He scrambles out of the nest, dropping the rag on the floor, and presses his forehead against the stone of the walls, the cold seeping into his bones and making his brain hurt. Fuck. Fucking _shit_. He can't do this. He's torn between what he knows is right and what needs to be done and Geralt is so overwhelmed that he wants to cry. He thumps his fist against the wall, again and again, head pushed into the unforgiving stone, and finally the scream that has been sitting in his throat for hours bursts free. He roars, angry and pained, and when he drives his fist into the stone again, the skin splits.

He stands there for a long time, disgusted with himself, breathing heavily and bleeding onto the floor, and so hard he can hardly bear it.

Behind him, Jaskier moves, whimpers. His fever spikes again, and the rush of fresh slick on the air suddenly nearly sends Geralt to his knees. He turns around, hoping that Jaskier has regained consciousness - but he hasn't. He's still out cold, and despite that he's writhing on the furs, his body seeking a relief it can never find. He whimpers again, and now it sounds clearly pained. Geralt's body rocks in the direction of the nest without his permission, and he curls his hands into fists. The right one aches and fresh blood bursts free.

"Alpha..." Jaskier sounds like he's on the edge of crying again, his voice slurred and wobbly. " _Hurts_ -"

Geralt is across the room before he knows he's doing it, his alpha echoing Jaskier's whimpered _hurts hurts hurts_ endlessly. The omega is twitching where he still lies on his side, hands fisted in a blanket and face contorted in pain.

With a whine of distress, Geralt lies down behind Jaskier, pushes back into the slick heat of him. Almost immediately, the tension drains out of the boy, and Geralt grabs a pillow from somewhere and bites into it. Then he screams himself hoarse, the sound barely muffled by the fabric and down.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: injury and feelings

It takes another hour for Jaskier to wake up again. He's bleary-eyed and weak, and he shivers before pushing back against Geralt. "G'alt?"

"I'm here, Jaskier," he says softly, "you passed out."

"Hm, that 'xplains it," the omega murmurs. He tries to turn his head to look back at Geralt but he can't. "How long has it been?"

"Not long." Geralt grits his teeth. "You're not getting better," he says quietly, "you're getting worse. Vesemir was here, he said-" No, he can't say it.

"Said what?" Jaskier clenches weakly around him as he tries to shift around, and Geralt holds him steady by the hip.

"He said... you might die if- If we don't mate." Jaskier just hums in reply, his eyes slipping closed. "Jaskier, did you hear me?"

"Did. I'm thinking about it."

Geralt is baffled. More than. "There's nothing to think about. We'll find another way."

At that, Jaskier stiffens. Then he says, in a voice so quiet Geralt can hardly hear him, "Should've known."

"What do you mean? Jaskier, what-" His mind is going a hundred miles a minute. He messed up, he did something wrong, but _what_ -

"Should've known you didn't really want me," Jaskier says just as quietly as before, and the floor disappears from beneath Geralt.

What.

No. No, _no_ , this is all wrong, _how_ did it go so wrong?

Jaskier is still stiff against him, and Geralt gently pulls him closer. "That's not true. I want you, Jaskier, wanted you from the start. But I can't just..." He groans, frustrated. "I can't just make that decision for you, no matter how much I might want to." He holds up his arm; Jaskier sucks in a surprised breath when he sees just how many bites there are. "I can't- _won't_ do it without your consent, Jask. I love you and would never want to abuse your trust like that."

The omega stiffens even more in his arms, to the point where he starts shaking, and then there's the salty tang of tears again. "You- _What_ -"

Fuck, what did he say, why is Jaskier crying, what-

 _Oh_.

He pulls Jaskier even closer, as close as he can. They're connected from head to foot, their legs tangled and Geralt's arms around the omega, and he buries his nose in Jaskier's hair. "I love you, Jaskier," he breathes against the boy's ear, and Jaskier sobs and clings to his arm.

"You don't- You _can't_ -" He's gasping, shaking, and Geralt kisses his hair, the shell of his ear. "But I'm so _broken_ ," Jaskier finally gasps, "I can't even have sex with you without my body literally _forcing me_ to, and you-"

"I don't care, Jask, I care about you. I want to be with you, in any way you'll have me."

Jaskier cries and cries, fingers digging into Geralt's arm like a lifeline. He can feel him growing warmer again already, and his hips twitch against him of their own accord. Jaskier moans, and gasps, "Do it."

"Jaskier, you're not in your right mind, you can't-"

"I don't _care_ , Geralt! I'm telling you to do it, I _want_ it," he sobs, presses his arse back against Geralt. "Please, Geralt, I want it, I want to- _Please_ let me be with you," he whispers, and Geralt's heart jumps into his throat.

"Are you really sure," he breathes, and Jaskier whimpers, nods frantically. His fever is spiking worse than ever, so hot in Geralt's arms that it's becoming uncomfortable.

"Please, Geralt," he says, voice trembling, "make me yours, alpha," and with that his head tips back against Geralt's shoulder and his eyes roll back in their sockets as he grinds back on Geralt's cock.

 _Fuck_.

This is really happening. Jaskier wants to be with him, wants to be _his mate_ , even though Geralt has nothing to offer him, no comforts, none of the luxury he deserves, and Geralt knows he will take this gift. Because it is a gift, the trust Jaskier places in him after all that he's been through, one he will treat with the respect and care it deserves, even if he himself is entirely undeserving.

He carefully rolls Jaskier onto his front, making sure he's not being smothered in the furs and pillows, and gently pulls back before pushing into the omega's heat again. He's scorching, loose and wet and _sinful_ , and Geralt finds himself murmuring praise now, none of the depraved, humiliating things he said before.

Jaskier mewls as he lies there, unable to participate, he's too out of it, but he gasps and moans so prettily when Geralt calls him sweet omega, when he kisses his shoulder, his cheek, his slack mouth. His alpha is silent, waiting, pleased with what's happening.

He goes slow, too mindful of Jaskier's injuries - because that's what they are - to do this any other way. Jaskier doesn't come, too weak, too dehydrated, but he doesn't smell of discomfort, a small miracle in itself, and when Geralt pushes his knot into him, as carefully as he can, Jaskier breathes a quiet, " _Yes_ ," his lips tilting up a fraction.

Geralt leans down. His teeth throb in his mouth, so close to Jaskier's scent gland, and he moans as he brushes his lips over it. Jaskier shudders, whimpers, tilts his head a fraction. "Jaskier," he breathes into his skin, and Jaskier shudders again.

Then Geralt opens his mouth and sinks his teeth into Jaskier's gland, and everything goes dark.

* * *

Geralt's head is full of wool, and his mouth full of blood.

He blinks open his eyes, slowly. The room is almost dark, the fire having burned down low, and the air has a light chill to it. He feels like he's gone a couple of rounds with a rock troll, and he draws a shuddering breath. Everything aches.

Why does his mouth taste like blood?

Something (someone?) moves beside him, and Geralt turns his head to look.

Jaskier is watching him, curled up on his side. His eyes are clearer than they've been the whole time they've been in here, and while he still smells of heat, it's not nearly as desperate as it had been.

There's a thin trail of blood running down from his shoulder, over his throat and into the dip of his collarbones.

The bite.

The _mating_ bite.

Geralt sits up as though pulled on a string, his heart in his throat. "Jaskier," he rasps, "are you-"

"I'm fine," the omega murmurs, blinking tiredly. "Just... thirsty." Geralt scrambles out of the nest as fast as he can and grabs the pitcher of water and a mug. He almost spills it in his haste to return to Jaskier, and the omega smiles softly. Geralt helps him drink, and Jaskier sags back against the pillows with a sigh.

Geralt doesn't know what to do. Everything in him is screaming at him to pull Jaskier into his arms, to hold him close, to scent him, but he doesn't know how welcome that would be. He _hurt_ Jaskier, in more ways than one. He bound him to himself, to his way of life, and he-

"I can practically hear your mind spiralling," Jaskier says, and Geralt wrenches his eyes up from where he had been staring at his hands. The omega huffs a tired laugh and jerks his head once. "Come over here and hold me, will you?"

He does as he's bid, lying down in a not quite as sticky corner of the nest and pulling Jaskier into his arms. The omega winces, but sighs happily as he lets his head rest on Geralt's chest. They just stay like that for a while, both in their own heads, until Geralt asks, "Are you... How do you feel?"

Jaskier chuckles weakly. "Like someone drove over me with a carriage." He presses closer. "But... better. I think I can actually rest a bit now before the next wave. And," he strokes a thumb over Geralt's ribs before he adds, "I feel safe. And before you can protest, no, it's not the bond. I... I already felt that way, before."

Geralt presses his lips together and stares at the wall.

"You don't believe me, not with... with everything that I've told you. I understand that. But you're not the only one who has been fighting this. Do you remember, just before we got to Ard Carraigh? When you said you were scared you'd attack the others? I was thinking about mating even then. I told you." He sighs. His breath tickles against Geralt's skin. "I just... wasn't ready. And I think I would've... continued to deny myself what I wanted if this hadn't happened."

"But you didn't choose this," Geralt says bitterly. Jaskier huffs a laugh, winces again.

"I chose you, Geralt. If all I had needed to get through this heat was an alpha, I could've picked any one of you. All it would've taken would be a good knotting, thank you, goodbye. But that's not... That's not what I wanted. What I needed." He's quiet for a long time. Then he says, "I think a part of me knew what was going to happen. I was just too much of a coward to admit it."

"You're not a coward."

"Well, allow me to disagree," the omega says, and Geralt can hear the smile in his voice. Then he changes the subject, quite abruptly. "Is there food? I'm positively starving."

Geralt fetches him something, and Jaskier grins at him and, instead of picking up the apple or bread, opens his mouth, looking at Geralt expectantly.

 _Fuck_.

He tears up the bread into small chunks and feeds them to Jaskier, and his alpha rolls over and purrs in pleasure at the sight. Jaskier doesn't eat much of it, his stomach too tender, but he asks for the apple, and Geralt cuts it into slices and when he brings them to Jaskier's lips, Jaskier's tongue flicks out to lick stray drops of juice off of his fingers before he pulls the slice into his mouth.

Jaskier only manages half of the apple but he drinks some more water and looks much better already. He pats the nest beside him, smiling at Geralt, and the Witcher settles down and pulls him into his arms again.

"I'll have to... have a look at you before the next wave," he says quietly once Jaskier is resting in the crook of his arm once more. There's a stone in his throat, his guilt choking him. "I hurt you."

"I know," Jaskier whispers, "but I don't care. You didn't do it to hurt me." He turns his face, hides it against Geralt's ribs. "Not like them."

Geralt pulls him closer, and hates those men only slightly more than he hates himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... Progress? 🤷❤


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: more self-loathing, injury, discussion of Jaskier's past

The next wave comes on slowly, compared to what came before. Jaskier starts squirming, uncomfortable now, and Geralt closes his eyes for a moment and breathes.

"Will you let me have a look? I don't want... to hurt you more."

Jaskier rolls over wordlessly, pushing himself up onto his knees and bracing himself on the side of the nest.

Geralt's stomach churns as he moves behind the boy. The light is a little better after he stoked the fire again but it would still be too dark for a human to properly see.

He can see _everything_.

Jaskier is bleeding sluggishly, from many little tears around his opening, the skin rubbed raw despite his slick, and Geralt bites his tongue until he tastes blood.

"How bad is it?" Jaskier looks back at him over his shoulder, and he must see something awful on his face because he winces. "Geralt," he says softly, and the Witcher can't stand the tenderness in his voice.

"Don't, Jaskier. This is my fault."

The omega huffs. "I fucked myself on you until I passed out, how is that your fault?"

"I should've realised-"

"Can we stop? Seriously? Should haves are no use to anybody. It won't solve _anything_. We're where we are now, and we have to deal with it." He turns around again, grimacing as the movement aggravates his wounds. Then he reaches up and cups Geralt's jaw in his palm. "I want... I want to try and salvage this, Geralt, make it into something we weren't forced into." He smiles, actually _smiles_ , although there is a pleading edge to it. "Can you try and help me do that?"

He'd do anything to erase the memory of Jaskier passing out atop him from his mind.

"You need a break, Jaskier. And... salve, or, I don't know, something."

Jaskier shrugs. "I'm sure the others can prepare something."

How can he be so fucking _casual_ about this? Geralt wants to take him by the shoulders and shake him until he realises how horrifying all of this is. Wordlessly, he gets to his feet and walks over to the door, knocks on it once to warn whoever is outside. "I'm opening the door."

Lambert sits in a chair, balanced precariously on its two back legs against the wall. He presses a hand against his mouth and nose as the air pours out of the heat room, but Geralt doesn't miss the way his eyelids flutter for a second. Geralt's lip curls.

"The pretty boy lives. You guys need anything?" There's an undertone to his voice - does the omega need anything? Is he safe? Geralt grits his teeth.

"We need an ointment," he says, then adds, "human safe. For wounds."

Lambert stiffens. Then he brings the chair back to the floor. His eyes are serious. "Geralt, is he..."

"He's fine, it was... just a lot." Geralt's alpha is spitting and snarling _what business is this of his he's **no one**_ but Geralt wrestles it back. "Just get me the damn ointment." With that he steps back into the room and closes the door. He listens for a moment; Lambert curses colourfully as he gets to his feet, his steps receding down the corridor.

"Was that Lambert," Jaskier asks. Geralt turns; the omega has pulled one of the blankets out of the side of the nest and spread it over the stickier parts of the ground.

"Hm. Seems like he's just as protective of you as the others." He gets back into the nest, and Jaskier is on him immediately, crawling into his lap and curling up against his chest. Geralt ought to protest, make him lie down and conserve his strength, but then he feels it.

A soft vibration where Jaskier rests against him, barely loud enough to hear but strong enough to feel, and it's like someone pulled the floor out from beneath his feet.

Jaskier, injured and traumatised and more or less forcibly mated, sits curled up in his lap and is _purring_.

Geralt lets his head fall back against the side of the nest, his eyes stinging. _Fuck_.

* * *

Jaskier seems content to stay there for a while, even as Geralt can feel his thighs grow wet with the omega's slick. He rubs his cheek against Geralt again, still purring, and Geralt strokes his back gently while trying very hard not to think about having to fuck Jaskier again soon.

Unfortunately he is also still in rut, despite his exhaustion, and having Jaskier wriggling around in his lap really isn't helping.

He doesn't know how much time has passed when there's a knock on the door, and he gently eases Jaskier off him. The omega mewls in protest, eyes hazy but still present, and Geralt gets to his feet and walks over to the door. Vesemir is outside, not Lambert. The old wolf frowns.

"Is it done," he asks without preamble, and Geralt stiffens.

"Yes," he grits out. _Is it done_ , like it's not the most important decision a person has to make in their life. Geralt holds out his hand for the jar Vesemir carries, and the other hands it over.

"He should get better now. Still, if you need anything..."

Geralt grits his teeth, nods jerkily and closes the door in Vesemir's face.

Jaskier is still where Geralt left him, one hand between his legs, the other curled into a fist and stuffed into his mouth to muffle his noises. Geralt feels a rush of heat in his veins.

He kneels beside Jaskier and strokes a gentle hand over his back, even as he wants nothing more than to pull him up onto his knees and sink into him to the root. "How are you feeling?"

"Hot," Jaskier gasps against his hand, and now Geralt can see he has three fingers inside himself, fucking his hole furiously. "I need..." He whimpers. "I need to _come_ but it's not-"

"Ssh, it's alright, I got you," he murmurs. He puts the jar safely aside and picks up a pillow, pushes it under Jaskier's hips as he rolls him onto his front. The omega whimpers again, humps the pillow; Geralt gentles him with a hand on his lower back. "Relax, Jask," he says, ignoring his own cock which is hard enough that it feels like he might burst.

But instead of guiding himself into Jaskier, which is what the omega without a doubt expects, he lies down between his thighs and licks the tender skin around Jaskier's hole. The boy jerks, not expecting the touch or the sensation, and Geralt does it again. Jaskier whines. "Geralt, what- _oh_!"

Geralt drags the flat of his tongue over Jaskier's hole, and he can neither hold back his groan nor stop his hips from pressing against the ground. Jaskier tastes too fucking good, and Geralt keeps going, the omega's thighs trembling as he gasps and cries and pushes back against his mouth.

Fuck, he wants more, wants this to never end, he wants to _live_ here, between Jaskier's thighs, bringing him pleasure.

"Geralt," Jaskier gasps, and then his hand is in Geralt's hair, and Geralt moans at the sting in his scalp and pushes his tongue into Jaskier. "Fuck, gods, yes, keep going, I'm gonna-" His hand tightens further in Geralt's hair and his thighs shake under his hands and, " _Fuck_ , fuck, _yesyesyes_ ," then he's coming with a rush of slick.

Geralt doesn't stop.

He keeps going, even as his jaw starts cramping. He's drunk on Jaskier, on the taste and sound of him, and he pushes a hand between his own legs, strokes himself as he sucks and licks at Jaskier. The omega is crying and whimpering and yet he begs for more, _more, **more**_. Geralt does his best to comply, dragging four orgasms out of the boy like this. Only when he feels his own orgasm approaching does he pull himself away, climbing to his knees behind Jaskier. The omega is a boneless mess and yet he gives a cry and pushes back against him when Geralt mounts him, slides his knot into him as carefully as he can, and Jaskier locks them together only a moment later.

Geralt roars, and Jaskier screams, and despite everything the voice in Geralt's head tells him that this is how it's supposed to be, and in a moment of weakness, he finds himself agreeing.

* * *

Jaskier is at least conscious by the time Geralt's knot goes down, and a fresh wave of guilt crashes over him as he watches his seed trickling out of the omega, mixing with fresh blood; he'd been so careful and yet... Heats are bad enough as it is, but to be forced into this?

"Stop," Jaskier murmurs, and Geralt's eyes snap up to his face. The boy is red faced and sweaty, but he's smiling. " _Stop_ blaming yourself. I mean it, Geralt." He rolls over with some effort and a wince, then beckons Geralt closer. The Witcher goes, if somewhat reluctantly. "You said you love me," Jaskier says quietly when he's once more settled against Geralt's chest, "and... and I think I... I love you, too."

There's a ringing in Geralt's ears. "Do you- _Jaskier_ -"

The omega cups his face in his hands and kisses him, sweet and gentle, and Geralt winds his arms around him and pulls him against his chest. "I mean it," Jaskier says between kisses, "and I will not allow you to keep blaming yourself." More kisses. "This is out of our control, and I wouldn't want to do this with anyone else."

Again, he wants to object, wants to point out that he's merely the first person who showed Jaskier any sort of decency, that it's normal that he's grateful for that but that Geralt doesn't expect gratitude or anything else, but a part of him - a large part, one that is much louder than the rest - wants to just... accept this. Wants to bask in it, to ignore all the horrible things he's done over the last few days and let himself forget, safe in the comfort of his omega's arms.

Then Jaskier moves, and winces, and Geralt is painfully reminded what exactly he has done.

"We need to... Lie down, I should-" He reaches for the jar, and Jaskier's mouth twitches. Then he crawls out of Geralt's arms and leans against the side of the nest once more.

Jaskier hisses at the first touch of the salve to his skin, then whimpers when Geralt spreads it further, and Geralt wishes, again, that he could cry.

* * *

It takes three more days until Jaskier's heat has run its course. Geralt's rut turned out to be a short-lived thing, something he suspects is entirely due to how fucking miserable he is.

They're mated, and Jaskier says he loves him, and Geralt wants very much to fall on his sword.

By the time the emerge from the heat room, much of the softness Jaskier had built up over the last weeks has melted away, and his legs tremble after just one flight of stairs. Vesemir had been waiting outside and, after just one look at how thin they'd both become, had run off to prepare something more substantial than bread and fruit. Geralt sweeps the omega up and carries him, despite the ache in his still healing arms, intending to take him up to bed and then get them something to eat from Vesemir, but Jaskier tugs at his sleeve.

"Can we go have a bath? I'm... pretty revolting, and you, my dear, don't exactly smell of roses either."

 _We smell of you_ , Geralt's alpha purrs, and he grits his teeth and heads for the hot springs. He's so focused on Jaskier, on not slipping on the snow accumulated in the courtyard, and his own despair, that he doesn't realise the bath is occupied until Jaskier leans down and pushes open the door.

Eskel and Lambert are seated in the middle pool, and they both look up, surprised and more than a little apprehensive.

Geralt bristles.

"Oh, hello," Jaskier says, patting his arm soothingly. "Didn't know you were in here. Do you mind if we join you?"

Eskel and Lambert exchange a look, and then Lambert smirks and says, "Please do, both of you stink to high heaven."

Jaskier wriggles out of his arms with a chuckle, and Geralt takes a breath and tries to calm the fuck down. Considering his fatigue, the omega throws off his clothes surprisingly quickly; Eskel and Lambert turn their backs as he hurries across the room and slides into the water. He hisses when his bum touches the water, but the following groan that falls from his lips is downright filthy, and Geralt's jaw aches with how hard he's gritting his teeth.

He throws off his own clothes and follows Jaskier into the pool, and the omega slides over to lean against him with a happy sigh. Geralt can't look at his brothers, too afraid of what judgment he might see on their faces.

"I need to thank you," Jaskier says to them now, "for... helping with all of this. Especially since we don't even know each other yet." This is obviously directed at Lambert, and the youngest wolf snorts.

"I may be a rude fuck," and here Eskel huffs a laugh, "but I'd be a shit person and a shittier alpha if I didn't help an omega in need. So don't worry about it, buttercup."

Jaskier stiffens ever so slightly against him, and Geralt wraps an arm around him. Eskel has gone very still. Jaskier bites his lower lip, then says, "I didn't know one of the Witcher mutations was inherent kindness."

Now Geralt looks over at his brothers, just in time to catch the look of complete bewilderment on Lambert's face before he wrestles back control over his features.

"What do you mean," he asks, and Jaskier wraps an arm around Geralt's waist, as if to anchor himself.

"I don't know how much you both know about.... about where I come from. About how Geralt and I met."

"Not much," Eskel says quietly. "Geralt didn't want to tell us something that wasn't his story to tell."

Jaskier looks up at him, a soft smile on his lips. His fingertips dig into Geralt's side for a moment. "I was... I was a slave, I guess you could say. My father gambled me away, and I... I had to-"

"Jaskier," Eskel says softly, and the omega presses his lips together. "You don't have to tell us."

"I know, I just... I want you to understand." He's rubbing his fingers against each other again, his scent sour with nerves. "I was raped for years, sometimes daily. Sometimes... more than once on a day."

Geralt doesn't know where to look. He feels sick; hearing this will never get easier.

"The man who- Who _owned_ me was a beta, but most of the men he let-" He stops, swallows thickly. " _Use me_ ," he continues, and Eskel and Lambert shift restlessly, "were alphas. Until Geralt, I never met a single alpha who even pretended they cared what was happening to me."

"Fuck, buttercup," Lambert murmurs, "that's not right. Those bastards had something wrong with them, that's not-" He cuts himself off, and Geralt can feel the fury surrounding the young wolf. "It's not _right_ ," he repeats, and then he hauls himself out of the water, grabs his clothes and storms out of the bath with a muttered, "I need to punch something."

The door bangs shut behind him, and Jaskier flinches at the noise. He sucks on his teeth for a moment. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset him," he says quietly.

Eskel hums as he picks up a bar of soap and starts scrubbing at his arms. "It's not your fault. Lambert... he runs hot. Emotions always close to the surface, and if there's one thing he hates it's... well, injustices like this. When nobody helps the weak."

Jaskier puffs up his cheeks, and Eskel smiles. "Are you calling me weak, Witcher? I'm not sure I can let this slight to my honour stand!" And then he wriggles out of Geralt's hold, grabs a rag, used for washing up, from the side of the pool, dunks it into the water, and then throws it at Eskel as hard as he can. Eskel laughs and throws the rag right back, and it all devolves into a bit of a water fight.

And for the first time in days, Geralt catches himself smiling.

* * *

Jaskier needs another week to get his strength back, for the abrasions he suffered to heal completely. Geralt frets about them the entire time, and it's only when Jaskier threatens to throw the jar of ointment out of the window that he stops.

He still feels like shit, but Jaskier tuts at him and pulls him into his arms and kisses him, and Geralt tries to let himself just be, in those moments.

And then, when they're all outside one day, clearing the freshly fallen snow from the paths to the stables and the chicken coop and the baths, Jaskier comes outside, bundled up in what looks like all of his clothes, and before Geralt realises what's happening, the omega has scooped up some snow, formed a ball, and shoved it down the back of Lambert's jerkin.

He almost can't hear his brother's outraged cry over the sound of his own laughter, and Jaskier's grin is blinding in its intensity. Until the boy catches a snowball, thrown by Eskel, with his face.

Maybe, Geralt thinks as he joins his mate and brothers in their impromptu snowball fight, they'll be alright.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: angst, self-loathing, some mildly dubious consent

As the weeks turn into months, things go back to how they were before Jaskier's heat, with one glaring difference: Geralt refuses to touch himself in Jaskier's presence, or even much touch the omega even in a non-sexual way, his guilt too heavy and getting heavier by the day.

They have abandoned the separate pools but Geralt has not let himself react to Jaskier's attempts to go back to how they were having sex before his heat.

He can't risk it.

He's so far in his own head that he doesn't realise what this is doing to Jaskier until, one evening shortly after midwinter, Jaskier slinks away to bed soon after Vesemir with a quiet, "Goodnight," and Geralt finds himself confronted by two very angry Witchers the moment they can hear the bedroom door close.

"What the _actual_ fuck, Geralt," Lambert hisses at him, and Geralt recoils.

"What?"

Eskel rubs a hand over his face, shaking his head. "He didn't even notice," he says to Lambert, and the young wolf groans and thumps his head onto the table.

"Notice what?" Geralt feels entirely wrong-footed, like he missed an important part of a conversation.

"Jaskier," Eskel says, and the seriousness of his voice sends a shard of ice down Geralt's throat.

"He's in a bad way, Geralt."

"But he's fine, he's eating, he hasn't had nightmares in a while-"

Eskel leans forward until he rests both arms on the table. "Geralt, he's showing signs of abandonment."

What.

No, that- "That can't be."

"Have you touched him aside from when he's asleep?"

Not even then, really. Geralt's eye twitches. "I-"

"He tries to get close to you, all the time, and you push him away." Lambert points an accusing finger at him. "I know you don't know shit about omegas but that's _your mate_ , you can't treat him like that!"

"I'm not- I-"

Fuck. He's spiraling, he can feel it, and he hides his face in his hands. The others go still and silent.

"I hurt him," he whispers, shoulders tight with his anguish. "I forgot about heats and forced him into this and I fucked him until he was _bleeding_ and then I bound him to me and-"

"Geralt," and Eskel is there beside him, a warm familiar weight and Geralt can't hold back the dry sob that claws its way out of his throat. Lambert appears on his other side and their arms are around him, and all Geralt can think is that he doesn't deserve their sympathy, not after what he's done.

"I _raped_ him, Eskel," he sobs, and their arms tighten around him.

"No, you didn't. You saved his life."

"He was begging me and I _enjoyed it_ , and I can't get the image of his blood on me out of my head and-"

"Stop it," Lambert hisses. "That boy's so fucking in love with you, and he asked you to share his heat because he _trusts_ you."

"And I betrayed that trust," he shouts and throws off their arms, jumping to his feet. He starts pacing, his throat raw with emotion.

"Did you enjoy hurting him," Eskel asks quietly, and Geralt glares at him.

"No, of course not."

"Then I don't know why you're beating yourself up like this. Knotting an omega in heat is what needs to be done, Geralt. It's like sewing up a wound. You wouldn't deny us stitches because they'd hurt us, would you?"

He shakes his head. No, that would be stupid.

"What you did is the same thing. You had to, and Jaskier knows that, and he's not holding it against you."

Lambert swivels around on the bench, waves a hand in the direction of the corridor. "Fucking talk to him. He needs you, you idiot."

Geralt's shoulders slump. The horrible thing is, they're right. He's been so caught up with feeling like shit about this that he ignored how Jaskier suffered.

Without a word, he leaves the hall.

* * *

There's the soft golden glow from the fireplace beneath the door to their room, and Geralt stands outside and listens for a moment.

Jaskier is crying softly.

 _Fuck_.

He knocks once, and Jaskier almost chokes in his hurry to silence himself. "Yes?"

"It's me," he says, feeling foolish. He has never knocked before.

"Uh, alright? Come in?"

Geralt pushes open the door and is greeted by Jaskier's red rimmed eyes. "Hey," he says, and Jaskier smiles shakily.

"Hey. Did you- Need something?"

"I do, actually." He closes the door behind himself, leans back against it. "You're unwell." It's not a question. Now that he pays attention, he can see it. There's tension in Jaskier's whole body, like he's constantly bracing himself against some internal pain. Gods, he's a fool not to have noticed.

"I'm... fine," Jaskier answers, frowning slightly. His thumb and fingers are rubbing together again, back and forth and back and forth. "Just a little tired."

"Jaskier," he says gently, and the boy looks down at his lap. "Please don't lie to me." Jaskier flinches at the accusation, and Geralt has to close his eyes for a moment. "I'm sorry," he finally says, "I've been... unkind."

"No, you haven't," Jaskier immediately protests. "You've been nothing _but_ kind, you saved me and gave me a... a home, and a family of sorts and-"

"I haven't given you what you need," he interrupts gently, and Jaskier frowns.

"I don't understand."

Geralt takes a deep breath. Now that he's looking for it, he can't ignore the note of distress woven into Jaskier's scent, not an acute emotion but one that he has become so used to that it seems to be a part of him. "I bit you," he says softly, "and then when your heat was over I pushed you away. Eskel said... He thinks you feel like I abandoned you." The words hurt to say, like acid in his throat, and when he meets Jaskier's eyes to find them once more swimming with tears, something in him shatters.

"I... I don't know," Jaskier says, voice shaking. "I don't-"

"Can I come and sit with you?" This is so similar to the early days, and Geralt _hates_ it. He wants to go back to how it was when they came to the keep, the gentleness and slow exploration of each other, but he's afraid of where attempting to regain that may lead.

"Of course." Jaskier sits up properly, leaning back against the headboard, and wipes at his eyes.

With another deep breath, Geralt pushes himself off of the door and walks over to the bed, sitting beside Jaskier. He watches his hands for a long moment, then he says, "I feel like I failed you." The boy twitches beside him, and Geralt presses on. "I shouldn't have... _enjoyed_ sharing your heat so much. The things I did, what I _said_ to you... I can't stop thinking about it." He swallows thickly. "I can't stop thinking about your blood on my cock, and I feel like I'm no better than the men who raped you." Jaskier makes a noise of protest, but Geralt ignores him. "That's why I haven't touched you, why I didn't... I'm afraid that I'll hurt you again."

He falls silent, and there's nothing but the crackle of the fire for a long time.

Then his lap is full of omega, and Jaskier's arms are around his neck. There are still tears running down Jaskier's cheeks but he's smiling softly, and then he says, "Gods, you wonderful, stupid, _stupid_ man," and then he kisses him, and his alpha comes roaring to the surface.

" _Omega_ ," he purrs into the kiss, and Jaskier pushes closer.

"You could never be like those men," he says emphatically, " _never_. You care so deeply, Geralt, and I told you, I wanted it to be you. I was hurt, yes, but only physically, and I'm better now." He presses a kiss to Geralt's jaw, another to his throat. "I never felt unsafe with you, I promise."

"Jaskier," he moans when the boy licks at the spot below his ear, and Jaskier sighs.

"I miss you," he says softly, "I miss your touch, and I miss the way you'd look at me, like I'm something precious, like I'm... like I'm worth something, as a _person_ , not just because I'm a hole you can stick your dick into."

Fuck. Geralt squeezes his eyes shut. He fucked up, yet again, even when he had the best intentions. "I'm sorry," he mumbles into Jaskier's hair, "I'm so sorry, I keep messing things up and-"

Jaskier's hand is in his hair, and he pulls, short and painful, and Geralt hisses. "Melitele's ample arse, will you _stop_ apologising? There is nothing to forgive, and if there were, you would have been forgiven long ago! If it makes you feel better, right, apology accepted! Can we please move on now? Because I'd really like for you to kiss me quite silly and then let me fall asleep in your arms, unless you can find something to object to about that, too." And then he tugs on Geralt's hair again and pushes out his bottom lip, and Geralt is weak, so very weak.

The omega all but melts when Geralt kisses him, and he makes lovely little noises of happiness, soft mewls and purrs that make pleasure curl warm and gentle in Geralt's gut.

"I meant what I said," Jaskier says later, when Geralt has kicked off his boots, pulled off his shirt and has let himself be pulled under the furs with him, "about... about how I feel. Towards you." The boy is cradled against Geralt's chest, fingers combing idly through the hair there; his breath is hot against his skin. "It wasn't just... a reaction to my heat or to hearing you say it, it just-" Jaskier swallows thickly. "It just couldn't come out before then."

"Jaskier-"

"I love you," Jaskier interrupts, fingertips pressing into Geralt's chest, "I never thought I'd find someone to say this to, but I mean it. I love you, and I'm so glad it was you who found me."

Geralt pulls him closer, kisses the crown of his head. His voice is barely a whisper against Jaskier's hair. "I love you, Jaskier."

The boy's arm slides around his waist as he sighs softly, and soon he's asleep, head pillowed on Geralt's chest.

* * *

When Geralt wakes the next day, it's still pitch dark outside, and there's a delicate hand wrapped around his cock.

He splutters, and next to him, Jaskier makes a soft little noise.

"Jaskier, what-"

"I'm sorry," comes the murmured reply. The boy is still tucked against his side, and he hides his face. "I know I shouldn't but..."

"It's- It's fine," Geralt croaks, pleasure shooting up his spine at the gentle pressure. Jaskier isn't stroking him, just holding, but it feels so fucking good already.

"You were... You were hard when I woke up and- I just wanted-" He almost sounds like he's about to start crying, and Geralt releases the death grip he has on the sheets, tipping Jaskier's head up instead so he can look at him in the scant light provided by the remains of the fire.

"Hey," he breathes, and Jaskier blinks up at him. "It's alright, Jaskier. If this is what you want. You don't owe me anything."

"I know. I just... I want to try," he says quietly, "without a heat. I want-" His voice quivers. "I just... _want_. You."

Geralt hums. "Come here, then," and he tips Jaskier's head back further and leans down and then they're kissing, and Jaskier's fingers tighten around his cock.

Jaskier kicks off his smalls and crawls up to straddle him after a while, for which he has to, regrettably, let go of him, but he seats himself directly over Geralt's hips, and Geralt realises with a start that the omega is just as hard as he is.

A part of Geralt, the one that still feels so guilty about what he has done, protests. It's just gratitude for saving him, it says, just instinct because he mated Jaskier, he doesn't _really_ want this, it's in an omega's nature to want to please-

But then. "You're thinking too much," Jaskier murmurs against his lips, and he pushes his hips down, slots their cocks together, and Geralt... surrenders. He's still not entirely sure that Jaskier actually wants this but the boy is asking him to believe him, to trust him, and if nothing else he owes him that.

Jaskier explores, for a long time. Brushes his fingertips over Geralt's scars, along the lines of his muscles, smooths his thumb over his eyebrows, the edge of his jaw. He kisses and licks and tastes, with pleased little hums whenever he discovers a particularly sensitive spot that has Geralt gasp or moan or squirm. And he squirms plenty under Jaskier's ministrations.

The boy moves down, to kneel between Geralt's thighs. The blanket has been pushed down a while ago, and Jaskier studies him after he has tugged down Geralt's trousers, strokes his hands over Geralt's thighs, digs his thumbs into the hollows of his knees. Geralt's cock jumps when Jaskier drags his fingertips along the insides of his thighs, a feather light touch that makes goosebumps break out all over his body. Jaskier bites his lip.

"I can't believe that was inside of me," he says quietly as he stares, "that it felt _good_ to have it there." He reaches out and, tortuous slow, drags a fingertip through the liquid leaking from the tip of Geralt's cock.

Geralt curls his hands into the sheets and hardly dares to breathe.

Jaskier lifts his hand, brings it closer to his face, studying the drop in the low light, brows lightly furrowed. Then he pops the finger into his mouth.

Geralt _whimpers_.

"I'll never get used to this," Jaskier murmurs, mouth twisting, then he wraps slender fingers around the Witcher's cock, strokes slowly.

"You don't have to," Geralt gasps, head pressed back into the pillows. "I'd never ask that of you."

Jaskier hums softly. "I know." He keeps stroking him, slow and steady. "I wonder what it feels like," he says, contemplative, and Geralt jolts.

"Let me," he moans, "please, Jaskier, _let me_ ," and Jaskier's hand stills.

"Why," he asks after a while, and when Geralt looks at him, he's frowning. "Why would you want that? You offered it before, and I didn't understand then either."

"I made you a promise then," he says quietly, "to give you nothing but pleasure. I broke that promise."

"Geralt-"

" _Please_ , Jaskier," he says, and his voice wavers.

Jaskier's face softens, and he nods. "Alright." Then he smirks. "If you insist."

Geralt beckons him up on the bed, to straddle his chest. Jaskier looks dubious.

"I'll suffocate you," and there's something underneath his statement that tugs uncomfortably at Geralt's gut.

"You won't. I want you to- If it feels good, I want you to just... do what feels natural." _I want you to fuck my mouth_ , he doesn't say. Jaskier is already so uncertain about the whole thing, phrasing it like that surely won't help.

Jaskier breathes deeply, then nods. He looks more like someone walking to his execution than someone about to get his cock sucked, and Geralt shoves down the anger that threatens to surface again. This isn't about him or his rage at how Jaskier has been treated.

"Can I touch you?"

"Well, at least some part of you will have to," the boy says with a grin, and Geralt rolls his eyes.

"Come here," he says and takes hold of Jaskier's thighs with both hands, pulling him closer. Jaskier is still hard, and he twitches when Geralt's breath whispers over him. "Alright," Geralt asks, and Jaskier nods.

Geralt leans forward and licks gently at the head of Jaskier's cock, and the omega jolts, but he doesn't pull away and Geralt lets that embolden him. He presses his tongue to the sensitive underside before he closes his lips around the head, and above him Jaskier shudders. "Fuck, that's- That's nice."

His thighs tremble under Geralt's hands, and he sets to work in earnest. He licks and sucks, hollows his cheeks, and Jaskier whimpers and moans, bracing himself against the headboard. Geralt's chest is wet with his slick.

"Geralt," he whines, and his hips twitch, as though he's just barely stopping himself from fucking into Geralt's mouth. The Witcher hums, and Jaskier gives a cry that has Geralt's cock drooling onto his stomach. "Oh _fuck_ , I want-"

Geralt pulls off with a moan. "What do you want," he asks breathlessly, and Jaskier stares down at him.

"I want- Oh gods, _I shouldn't_ , I just-"

"Do you want to fuck my mouth? Come down my throat?" Jaskier whimpers, shakes, squeezes his eyes shut. Then he nods. "Then do it. I want you to."

"But-"

Gods, he can't take this. He takes Jaskier into his mouth again, then slides his hands up to cup Jaskier's arse. The boy stiffens for a second, but Geralt only pushes against him, encouraging him to move, and then holds onto his thighs again.

"Well," Jaskier says, voice trembling, "if you're sure."

 _I'm sure_ , Geralt thinks, _I've never been surer of anything._


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soft boys being soft.  
> And, well, hard. *finger guns*

Jaskier is so very careful at first that it breaks Geralt's heart. The boy's terror at accidentally hurting him is like a third presence in the room, and he strokes his thumbs over his thighs and relaxes his jaw, and Jaskier's eyes flutter.

"Oh sweet Melitele, that's... that's so- Ah, _fuck_!"

Geralt has pressed his tongue against the sensitive underside and sucked, and he can't quite contain his smirk at the reaction. Jaskier's hands tighten where he's holding onto the bed. He looks down at him, eyes wide and dark in the dim light.

"Geralt, are you really sure?"

The Witcher hums, and Jaskier shudders. Then he sighs, and moves.

It's exactly how Geralt imagined it. No, not true, it's a thousand times _better_ because it's actually happening. He relaxes, goes loose and pliant, and lets Jaskier take his pleasure. The omega moans and pants, his face flushed as he stares down at where they're connected, and Geralt's chin and throat are completely drenched with his slick.

It doesn't take long until Jaskier's thighs start shaking, until his moans grow louder, and Geralt curls his hands around his waist, steadies him as his movements become sloppier. Jaskier whines, whimpers. He lets go of the headboard, one hand twitching towards Geralt's head before he pulls it back against his chest, his eyes squeezed shut. Geralt moans around him. _Fuck_. He reaches up, takes him by the wrist and guides his hand into his hair, and when Jaskier stares down at him with disbelief, Geralt thinks he could drown in those eyes.

"Geralt-"

He's so close, Geralt can tell, the taste of pre-come sharp on his tongue, and he hums and nods, as much as he can.

Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut and exhales in a shudder. Then he takes hold of Geralt's hair and fucks into his mouth, with short, sharp thrusts of his hips that have Geralt's eyes rolling back, and a moment later he stiffens, his grip on the Witcher's hair tightening, and then Jaskier is shaking apart with a cry and Geralt's mouth is full of come.

"F-fuck, that was-" Jaskier looks down at him with half-lidded eyes, still breathing hard, and Geralt gently moves him backwards to sit on his chest again, lets his cock slowly slide out from between his lips.

Holds Jaskier's gaze as he swallows, and the boy whimpers.

" _Geralt_ ," and then he shuffles back, lies down on Geralt's chest and kisses him, hard and unrestrained, and Geralt slides his hands to his waist to hold him close, his own erection forgotten.

"So you liked it," he asks when Jaskier has to come up for air, and he can't keep the smugness out of his voice. Jaskier gently slaps his shoulder, grinning.

"No, I obviously hated every second of it," he says, rolls his eyes. Then his face softens. "Thank you," he breathes, presses a soft, chaste kiss to Geralt's lips. "I don't think I can ever thank you enough for all you've done for me."

Geralt hums. "You don't have to thank me for that," he murmurs, "it was the right thing to do."

Jaskier lays his head on Geralt's chest, listening to his heartbeat for a moment. Then he says, "Maybe, but you were the only one who did it." His arms tighten around the Witcher. "So please accept it when I thank you, my love."

There's a beat of silence, and then Jaskier stiffens, as though his mind only now catches up to what his mouth just said. Geralt winds his arms around him and holds him close before he can flee, and Jaskier's breath shudders out of him. "I'll try," Geralt says softly, and Jaskier burrows deeper into his embrace with a wet chuckle.

* * *

They barely leave the bed all day, something Geralt hasn't done in ages. He only nips downstairs to get them food, ignoring the soft look on Eskel's face and the annoying whistle Lambert directs at his back as he hurries back up the stairs with his bounty.

When he returns to their room, Jaskier is laying on his stomach, feet in the air as he scribbles away in his notebook. He doesn't even look up as Geralt opens the door, even though he's naked and has his back to him, and heat spreads through Geralt's limbs at this display of pure trust. Not just in him, in _all of them_ , and he drops the food he brought onto the small table by the window and crawls onto the bed, wrapping himself around Jaskier with a purr. The bard chuckles and pets his head.

"What's got you so happy?"

"You," Geralt rumbles against the boy's collarbone, and Jaskier sighs softly.

They eat slowly, Jaskier picking apart the heel of bread and feeding it to Geralt from his fingers, and Geralt returns the favour with the cheese, and then Jaskier takes hold of his hand and sucks his finger into his mouth, eyes never straying from Geralt's.

Food forgotten, they wind up back among the furs, legs entangled as they kiss, and it doesn't take long until Geralt is almost drowning in the sweet scent of Jaskier's slick. The boy is making soft mewling noises as he pushes himself ever closer, and finally he grabs Geralt's hand and guides it down to his arse.

"Please, Geralt," he whispers, "please touch me," and Geralt shudders.

He remembers the way Jaskier feels under his hands, even if some of his memories are hazy from his rut. He knows the dip of the boy's waist, the way his hand curves around his rump. Knows how soft the skin is where thigh becomes arse, and Jaskier sighs and pushes into the contact.

It's so fundamentally different from the instinct-driven frenzy of heat. Geralt keeps his touch light and gentle, exploring Jaskier's body as the omega watches him from under heavy lids. He smells sweetly of anticipation, and Geralt kneels between his thighs and kisses him softly, _softly_ , until Jaskier pushes his hand into Geralt's hair and tugs him down on top of him.

They've never been in this position, Geralt realises. Even during Jaskier's heat, he never had him like this. He had always knelt between his legs, or had mounted him from behind, and his head spins at the sudden closeness, at another example of just how much Jaskier trusts him. He swallows drily. "Is this alright?"

Jaskier hums and nuzzles his jaw. "More than." His hands hover at Geralt's sides for a moment, uncertain, before he presses them to his back, gently, fingers tracing the scars he finds there, the shape of Geralt's ribs and spine. "You make me feel so small," he says quietly, "but in a good way?" He scrunches up his nose, scowling lightly. "Does that make sense?"

"I think it does," Geralt breathes. "If it means you feel... safe, with me."

Jaskier hums and kisses him, so sweetly. Then, forehead pressed against Geralt's, he says, "Fuck me, Geralt, please."

Geralt shivers, overcome for a long moment. "Are you sure?"

In answer, Jaskier takes his hand and guides it between his legs, where Geralt finds him positively sopping. "I'm sure," Jaskier whispers, and Geralt has to hide his face against the boy's chest.

Part of him wants nothing more than just push inside, wants to take, to end this torment of _having_ and _not having_. Instead he presses gentle kisses to Jaskier's skin, sucks and licks at his nipples as he oh so carefully pushes a finger into the omega. Jaskier's eyes flutter closed even as he tenses ever so slightly, but his scent doesn't change, the sweet anticipation overpowered instead by arousal, and Geralt lets it embolden him. He's careful, still, but one finger becomes two, and when Jaskier gasps and clutches his arm, he makes a pleased rumble that has the boy shuddering.

"You feel so good," Geralt says quietly when he has both fingers inside Jaskier to the knuckle, and Jaskier laughs breathlessly.

"Fuck, so do you," he moans, and then he rocks his hips against Geralt's hand. "More, Geralt, _please_ ," and he has no choice but giving Jaskier what he wants.

He slides down between Jaskier's legs, until he can put his mouth on him again; the boy arches off the bed with a keening cry. Geralt goes slow, with kitten licks and kisses before he takes him into his mouth, and Jaskier gets even wetter. Geralt hums around his cock.

"Geralt." Jaskier's hands are in his hair, fingertips massaging his scalp, and it sends shivers all down his back. "If you- ah!- don't stop that this will be over _very_ soon," Jaskier gasps, and Geralt hums again before he pulls off slowly.

"Don't want that," he murmurs, and Jaskier smiles.

"No, we definitely don't." He gives the alpha a calculating look, teeth worrying his lower lip. Then he pushes Geralt's head further down between his legs as he pulls his knees up, and Geralt groans, hips twitching.

"Jaskier," he rumbles, before he pulls his fingers free and buries his face between the boy's thighs. Jaskier moans softly at the first touch of Geralt's tongue to his hole, and Geralt takes hold of his hips and pulls him closer, directs the boy's legs over his shoulders.

Geralt feels drunk on him, the taste of his slick bursting sweetly on his tongue, and Jaskier's noises stoke the flame in his gut. The omega moans and squirms before him, his heels digging into Geralt's back and his fingers tugging on his hair, and he opens so beautifully under Geralt's ministrations. Finally, he gasps and pushes him away, just slightly; Geralt goes, if reluctantly.

Jaskier is red-faced and panting, his eyes shiny with lust. "Get up here," he breathes, and Geralt complies gladly. Jaskier pulls him into a kiss, wet and filthy, and he moans as he tastes himself in Geralt's mouth. "I'm ready, please, I _promise_ I'm ready."

Geralt nuzzles his throat, kisses down the long line of it. "Like this?"

Instead of answering, Jaskier winds his legs around his hips, and Geralt pushes a hand between them. He's achingly hard, leaking at the tip, and he squeezes himself to get some control back. The prospect of being inside Jaskier again is far too much, has him on the precipice already.

"Geralt," Jaskier breathes, and Geralt pushes into him.

He goes slowly, so terribly slowly, and it's torture and a revelation, and he never wants it to end. Jaskier makes soft, surprised noises, his hands glued to Geralt's shoulders and his head tipped back, and Geralt kisses every part of him he can reach. Finally, _finally_ , he has fully sheathed himself in the omega, with the exception of his already slightly swollen knot, and he's panting, trembling, his orgasm seemingly a breath away.

Jaskier sighs and shudders, and slowly his grip on him loosens. Geralt presses wet kisses to the line of his jaw. "Are you alright?" His voice is raw with emotion, and Jaskier's eyes flutter.

"Yeah." And then his mouth stretches into a lazy, pleased smile, and Geralt's heart soars. "Feels good," the omega murmurs, then adds, "You can move."

Geralt doesn't think he _can_ , if he's honest, too afraid that he'll spill at the first thrust, and he stays still, so carefully still. His arms shake where he's holding himself up, and Jaskier makes a soft, soothing noise.

"Geralt?"

"Hnn. Just- Too much."

Again, that soft noise, and then Jaskier runs gentle fingers through his hair. It gives Geralt another point of contact to concentrate on, and soon he doesn't feel like he's about to burst any more. Jaskier nuzzles his cheek and hums. "Better?"

He heaves a deep breath, finds Jaskier's mouth and kisses him, and rolls his hips. The omega's breath hitches, and then he moans.

It's slow, and gentle, with none of the frantic urgency of heat. Jaskier keeps looking up at him, blue eyes heavy-lidded and soft with emotion, and Geralt thinks he could drown in them. The boy's hands twine into his hair, his grip soft but... _possessive_ , and Geralt presses his face against his throat, breathing him in.

There, nose pushed against the soft skin of Jaskier's throat, is where he notices the new scent for the first time. It's barely there, just a hint beneath flowers and salt, and he presses closer, breathes deeper. Jaskier chuckles. "What are you doing, my love?"

The endearment sends a bolt of heat down his spine, but he's too distracted by the new scent. "You smell different," he murmurs, "still like you, but... there's something new. Like- Evergreen trees."

Jaskier hums and tugs on his hair gently, pulls him away from his throat. He's flushed, his lips swollen from kissing. He's utterly beautiful, even more so when he smiles softly. "That's _you_ , Geralt. Because you're my- My alpha," and then he hooks his legs around Geralt's waist and the Witcher sinks that much deeper into him, making the boy throw back his head with a cry.

Geralt is dumbfounded, even as he starts to slowly roll his hips again. _His scent_? Is that what he smells like? Beneath him, Jaskier is making those delicious mewling noises again, his fingers digging into Geralt's back to urge him on, and he leans in again and licks a long stripe up the boy's throat. Jaskier moans and tips his head back, and Geralt can't help it, he bites down, gently, not to break skin, and Jaskier shudders and tightens around him.

"Geralt, please," and that's all the permission he needs.

They move together, Jaskier's legs tightening around Geralt's waist whenever he glances over his sweet spot, and finally Jaskier winds his arms around Geralt's neck and holds on fiercely. He's moaning and gasping, tilting his hips to let Geralt go ever deeper, until his knot pushes at Jaskier's rim, and then the omega goes rigid.

"I'm- Geralt, I- _Alpha_!" He comes between them, the heat of his spend like fire against Geralt's skin, and he fucks him through it, gently, until his cries turn into soft whimpers. He stops then, holds himself still, and Jaskier's eyes flutter open. He looks come-drunk, but also confused. "Why'd you stop?" He's slurring just a little, and Geralt's alpha purrs at the evidence of just how good the omega has been fucked.

"Are you- I can stop if it's too much-"

"Geralt," Jaskier mumbles, smiling lazily, "keep going." He kisses along the line of Geralt's collarbone, his shoulder. His teeth sink into the muscle. "Wanna make you come," he breathes against damp skin, and Geralt groans, loudly, as his hips twitch forward.

It's still sweet, and gentle, but now that Geralt has... permission, he chases his own release with more abandon than before. Jaskier gasps and moans, presses closer and murmurs soft words of encouragement as he holds firm to Geralt's hair, and it doesn't take long at all.

Jaskier bows his head to Geralt's throat, sucks on the spot below his ear, and fire pours down his spine. Fuck, he's _so close_ , he needs to- "Jaskier, I'll- Do you want-"

Jaskier gasps and hooks his legs higher, but then he stiffens, ever so slightly. "Don't knot me," he whispers, "I don't think I can-"

He shushes the boy, kisses him as he slows down. "It's alright," he groans, "we don't have to." _Not ever_ , he thinks, even as his alpha grumbles and complains about the thought.

"Come _on_ me," Jaskier gasps, and it's nearly over then and there.

It only takes three more thrusts and then his knot is full and heavy, and he pulls back with a wounded sound and comes all over Jaskier's stomach. Jaskier mewls and moans, one hand letting go of his hair and moving between them. His slim fingers wind around Geralt's knot, or as much around it as they're able to, and he squeezes, hard. Geralt makes a garbled sort of noise, his muscles trembling as light explodes behind his eyelids, and he collapses to the side. Jaskier moves with him, his grip never loosening, and Geralt comes and comes and comes.

When it finally stops, he's weak and panting, and they are both an absolute mess, covered in slick and come, and then Jaskier presses into his side with a pleased little hum. A hum that turns into a kiss brushed along his jaw.

That turns into a whispered, "I love you," and Geralt, heedless of the mess, wraps his still trembling arms around the omega and holds him close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They'll be okay. ❤
> 
> One more.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, guys. The end. Just 4.1k words of pure sugar.

The rest of winter passes more comfortably than Geralt can remember ever happening. The rhythms of the keep remain much the same as before, with repairs and training and hunting. But when the snow storms really hit and they are stuck inside for two weeks straight and the younger wolves mentally brace themselves for getting on each other's nerves sooner rather than later, that just... doesn't happen.

The keep smells like happy omega, and the alphas feel mellow and surprisingly non confrontational. Jaskier sings for them in the evenings while they play gwent or dice, debuting the songs he has written about them to a very emotional audience that do their best to keep up the stoic facade. 

When Lambert breaks out his godsawful moonshine one day, Jaskier has about a thimble full and spends the rest of the night a clingy, giggling mess, drenching the entire hall in his _sweet-happy-honey_ scent.

His nightmares aren't gone entirely, but nobody expected that, and it takes not nearly as long to calm him after.

And to everyone's surprise, Jaskier becomes more tactile with all of them. 

One afternoon, Lambert - who, despite his disastrous attempts at making alcohol, is a pretty decent cook - is in the kitchen fiddling with a new dish he's been working on, and Jaskier slides smoothly into his space, winds an arm around his waist and plucks the spoon he was just lifting to his mouth for a taste from the Witcher's hand. He pops it into his own mouth and makes a happy little trill, his eyes fluttering, and then he squeezes Lambert's side, says, "Tasty," and is gone again as quickly as he appeared. Lambert stands there, staring after him, until the smell of burning food breaks him out of his stupor.

Eskel gets accosted by Jaskier one morning as he's letting the chickens out of their coop. Jaskier slips into the enclosure, basket over his arm to collect the eggs. He stops when he sees Eskel kneeling by the coop door, chickens on both his broad arms, and then he bursts out laughing. When he has collected the eggs, Eskel is just gently dislodging the last chicken from himself, and all of a sudden Jaskier is sprawling over his back, his arms around his neck, hands pressed to Eskel's chest. His breath is warm against the side of Eskel's neck, and he reaches up and squeezes the omega's hands gently. Jaskier chuckles and murmurs, "Must write you a song," he murmurs, "The Gentle Wolf," and with that he slips away, leaving Eskel just as dumbfounded as Lambert had been.

Vesemir finds himself with a lapful of omega one evening when Jaskier tips over on the sofa they'd been reading on, sprawling across the old wolf's lap as he snuffles in his sleep, and Vesemir runs a gentle hand through the boy's hair, more than a little befuddled.

And of course there's Geralt, who wakes every day with his arms full of omega, to soft kisses and gentle hands, and some days only the threat of Lambert coming into their room and dumping a bucket of snow over them forces them out of their bed at all.

The wolves don't talk about it but it's clear even without words: they all love Jaskier. They love the softness he brings to their home, that they can relax around him and do the one thing they were always told not to do: lean into their alpha side, the part of them that wants to protect, to provide, to cherish.

Lambert is still an arse, they still bicker and Vesemir still gets quietly or not so quietly exasperated with them, and there are yelling matches and scuffles over stupid bullshit. Jaskier appearing in a doorway is usually enough to deescalate things, much quicker than any threat of having to run the walls ever could.

And one evening, when Jaskier is curled up in furs and blankets in front of the hearth in what can only be called a nest even if it isn't particularly elaborate, he motions Geralt over from where he's watching his brothers play cards. Vesemir retired a while ago, so it's just the four of them, and Geralt is on the ground beside him before he's even really properly thought about it. Jaskier tugs him into his nest with a happy purr, but when he's plastered himself to Geralt's side, he wriggles and wrinkles his nose.

Then he says, "Eskel, Lambert, come here?" It's phrased as a question but Geralt watches his brothers rise to their feet and then the confusion washing over their faces as they realise what they're doing.

"What the fuck," Lambert blurts, even as he steps away from the bench, and Jaskier mewls softly.

"Please come here," he murmurs, and for a moment nobody moves. 

Eskel and Lambert look at him, the question clear on their faces, and Geralt winds an arm around Jaskier. He leans down and presses a kiss to the mating bite, then looks at his brothers again. Lambert is nearly vibrating with tension.

Geralt nods, and the youngest wolf is off like a shot, burrowing into Jaskier's other side with a happy groan, his nose pressed into the omega's hair. Eskel goes slower but he's no less eager, curling around all three of them with his head against Geralt's shoulder, and Geralt takes a long, slow breath.

He should be foaming at the mouth, he thinks, with two alphas practically glued to his omega, scenting and touching him, especially with Lambert so close to Jaskier's neck.

Instead he feels - complete. This is his pack, his _family_ , and when Jaskier starts purring properly, Geralt echoes the sound, and it's not long before both Lambert and Eskel join in as well, looking at Geralt with surprise.

Geralt just smiles, and soon he drifts off, warm and comfortable and surrounded by the man he loves and his brothers, and he thinks that for once, destiny has given him exactly what he needed.

* * *

When spring comes around, it's no question whether or not Jaskier will go with Geralt, back to the Path. Vesemir extends the invitation that he can stay at Kaer Morhen year-round, but everyone knows it's just for formality's sake. No one expects him to take the old wolf up on the offer.

Lambert is the first to leave, and he hugs Jaskier fiercely. "Don't let the bastard give you shit, buttercup. He's not all that, you know," and to Geralt he says, "You better treat him right, or we're gonna have a problem." Geralt rolls his eyes at that, and Jaskier giggles and presses a kiss to Lambert's cheek, and they all pretend not to see the soft look in his eyes when he rides out.

Eskel is next, and Jaskier cries when they say their goodbyes. The two have become close over the winter, connecting over their shared love of books, and Jaskier is still grateful for the easy acceptance and fierce protectiveness Eskel had shown him from the start. Now it's him who hugs the scarred Witcher as hard as he can, and Geralt feels soothed by the thought that, should something happen to him on the Path, his omega will be provided for.

Jaskier kisses Eskel, too, just on the edge of his scars, and the dark-haired man pulls him close again and presses a kiss of his own to Jaskier's forehead. He looks at Geralt as he does it, and Geralt nods, ignoring the sudden lump in his throat.

They stay an extra day, Jaskier loathe to part from the hot springs just yet, and when he crawls into Geralt's lap there, cheeks flushed, smelling of slick and desire, Geralt half-considers just staying this year.

They do leave, finally, and parting from Vesemir is probably the hardest goodbye of all for Jaskier. He winds his arms around the old wolf as he sobs, and Vesemir pats his back, only a little awkwardly. "I'll see you in the winter, pup," he says, and Jaskier sniffles loudly and squeezes him tightly before he lets go.

"You better," he says, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "Or I'll be very angry with you."

They take their time moving down the mountain. Everything is wet with the snow melts, and Geralt doesn't want to risk starting a mudslide. Jaskier only complains once about their 'snail's pace', but Geralt knows he doesn't really mind. Going back to bigger settlements after spending so much time with only four other people takes some adjusting after all.

By the time they reach Ard Carraigh, Jaskier has finished another song, and he's itching to debut it. Geralt has had to listen to him trying out melodies for over a week now, so he's very familiar with that at this point, but the lyrics are still a mystery to him.

"Don't fret," Jaskier says mildly when he asks about them, "you'll hear it soon enough."

That moment arrives when they get a room at Tomasz's inn, and the man sees the lute slung over Jaskier's back. "Do you play," he asks, and Jaskier shoots him a wicked grin.

"No, I carry it around for good luck," but he winks and Tomasz chuckles.

"Come down to the common room tonight," the beta offers, "we have a full house, might make some coin."

Jaskier bows with a flourish, then grabs the key to their room and his satchel from Geralt. "I'll go powder my nose real quick, darling," he says, ignoring Geralt's eyeroll, and then flits up the stairs.

Tomasz watches him go, then looks over at Geralt. "That's him, isn't it? The boy you brought in last time." Geralt nods, and the man smiles mischievously. "Marriage becomes you, Witcher," and then he turns and disappears into the back.

Geralt stands there, rooted to the spot until Jaskier's head pops up from behind the banister going up the stairs. "Did you plan to sleep down there," he asks, and Geralt lurches forward.

He follows the omega up the steps, his head filled with an odd buzzing. He lets Jaskier pull him into their room, not a word of the bard's chattering registering with him. It just adds to the buzzing.

Marriage. _Marriage_ ? What the _fuck_.

Are they married? They're mated, is that the same thing? _Can_ Witchers even get married? Who would perform such a ceremony? Would Jaskier _want_ to get married? Being a Witcher's mate must be bad enough, at least he can hide his mating bite, a ring would be-

"Geralt!"

"What?!"

Jaskier is standing before him, hands on his hips and a scowl on his face. "You didn't hear a word I said, did you?"

Geralt stares at him for a long moment, then scrubs his hands over his face. "Fuck, sorry, I was-" He groans. "Tomasz said something, I was-"

The omega immediately puffs himself up, halfway to being offended on Geralt's behalf. "What did he say? Did he insult you? I'll-"

"No, nothing like that. He's a good man. He just-" He heaves a breath. "He thinks we're married."

Jaskier's eyebrows rise. "Oh." He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and worries it for a moment with his teeth, before he says, "And you look like Roach just started talking at this assumption because...?"

Geralt slumps against the wall, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "I don't know, I was- I've never thought about it."

The omega slides easily into his arms, despite the armour he's still wearing. "You also never thought about having a mate, my love."

He breathes deeply, letting Jaskier's proximity calm him. "Do you want to get married?"

The bard snuggles closer. "I wouldn't say no if you were to ask me." He presses a soft kiss to Geralt's jaw, then moves away. "Anyway, I really need to freshen up, do we have money for a bath?"

Geralt recognises when an out is offered to him, and for the moment he's glad to take it. They call for a bath and if they get distracted after they're both clean, requiring a second round of bathing in water reheated with Igni, nobody but them needs to know.

They're in the common room a bit later than Jaskier had originally planned but it's still full enough for him to make decent coin. Geralt settles into a dark corner; Tomasz and his family may be amenable to Witchers but that doesn't mean their guests are as well.

He watches as Jaskier positions himself by the hearth, hair tousled and cheeks pink (and now Geralt knows _exactly_ where the flush comes from), unbearably handsome in his forget-me-not blue doublet. Geralt immediately makes note of who looks just a little too interested.

"Good evening, my good people! My name is Jaskier and it is my pleasure to be allowed to be your entertainment today. I have recently returned to this fair city after a long absence and would like to take this opportunity to play my newest song for you today! I hope you enjoy listening to it just as much as I enjoyed writing it!" He smiles and winks at a young girl close to where he's standing, and then he starts playing.

_// When a humble bard_

_Graced a ride along_

_With Geralt of Rivia_

_Along came this song //_

Geralt stares. People are turning in their seats, their eyes flickering back and forth between him and the bard currently spinning his yarn, and Geralt can't stop staring at him.

He knew the boy had written songs about them, about all of them. The one he'd played for him had not been fit for public performance though, and Geralt had no idea Jaskier had written another one. As he listens, it becomes clear very quickly what the song is about: it's about Jaskier's rescue.

_// Toss a coin to Your Witcher_

_O' Valley of Plenty_

_At the edge of the world_

_Fight the mighty horde_

_That bashes and breaks you_

_And brings you to mourn //_

Something inside his chest clenches, hard, and he keeps staring at the bard, who meets his gaze calmly. There is no trace of the horrors he went through on his face, and Geralt is, once more, in awe of the boy's resilience.

_// That's my epic tale_

_A champion prevailed_

_Defeated the villain_

_Now pour him some ale_

_Toss a coin to your Witcher //_

People are joining in when he repeats the chorus, and Geralt jumps when the first coins clatter onto the table in front of him.

Jaskier's smile is blinding, and Geralt's heart beats loudly in his chest.

* * *

He lets Jaskier sleep in the next day, slipping out the door and to the market before the sun is even visible over the roofs of the city. Geralt ends up visiting no fewer than six jewellers before he finds something he likes, most of the courting jewellery too dainty or gaudy. Jaskier needs something that will not take up much space and be sturdy enough for him to wear during his heats, and it's not until the last shop that he finds something.

Geralt tucks his purchase into his shirt, the metal warming against his skin, and he picks up pastries on his way back to the inn. If he's going to spoil the boy, he might as well go all out.

Jaskier is still asleep when he gets back to their room, spread out across the bed like a starfish. His chemise has slipped, baring his shoulder - his mark - and Geralt kicks off his boots and drops his cloak and slides back into bed with him. Jaskier grumbles at being moved, but then his nose twitches and he curls into Geralt with a happy sigh. A minute later his eyes flutter open. "Hey."

Geralt kisses him softly, rubs their noses together. "Hey. I got you some breakfast," he murmurs, and Jaskier hums. "Apple tarts," he adds and now Jaskier perks up noticeably. Before he can flee the bed to get to the pastries, Geralt winds an arm around him and holds him close. "Got you something else, too."

"Oho, is it my birthday?" Jaskier grins and makes himself at home in the crook of Geralt's arm. "Out with it then, Witcher, what's this secret?"

He pulls the little package out of his shirt and holds it out. Jaskier takes it with a mixture of excitement and light apprehension.

"I can't remember the last time I got a gift," he says. The metal moves inside the package, and the omega lifts an eyebrow. Then he rips open the paper. It takes him a moment to understand what he's seeing, and then his eyes grow wide, and then wet. "Geralt, is that-"

"I wanted to get you something before we went to Kaer Morhen but I didn't know if you'd accept. And I know we're already mated but-"

"Shut up," Jaskier interrupts and sits up. For a second Geralt's throat seizes, closes up in fear, until the omega thrusts the jewelry at him. "Put it on me." His hands are shaking.

Geralt sits up, his heart thundering in his chest, and gently untangles the chains. He guides Jaskier's arms through the loops, then reaches behind him and closes the clasp, and then he _looks_.

The chain is a little thicker than is usual for omegan jewelry but it looks just right on Jaskier. The silver glints in the sunlight falling through the window, and Jaskier reaches up to slide his fingers along the links. Tears drip onto his hand.

"Are you alright, Jask?"

The boy looks at him, eyes swimming with tears. "Yes," he says simply, and Geralt lets himself be grasped by the front of his shirt and kissed breathless.

Later, when it's long past breakfast, Jaskier carefully takes off the chain before he gets dressed. "I never thought I'd ever have my own courting jewelry. Never thought I'd be… worthy of it, you know?"

Geralt shushes him with another kiss. "I'd buy you all the jewels on the continent if I could."

And Jaskier laughs and runs gentle fingertips over his scent gland, nearly making Geralt's knees buckle under him, before he says, "And you say you're not a romantic."

* * *

Jaskier's next heat comes the following summer. It's hot and muggy and Geralt couldn't miss the scent of pre-heat if he tried. Jaskier is positively swimming in it.

They find a nice inn that offers heat rooms for travelers, and Jaskier, the little shit, gets the price down by a quarter by being a shameless flirt. He tugs the collar of his chemise away from his throat and fans himself in the stifling heat, spreading his pheromones all over the room with a grin. The innkeeper goes a little cross-eyed and lowers the price, and Geralt watches with no small amount of amusement.

It still surprises him that he can take things like this in stride now. Last autumn he would have been more likely to rip the man to shreds than stand idly by as Jaskier gave a coquettish smile, would have punched him for looking at Jaskier's throat like that. Now all he feels is pride, _look how clever our mate is._

The fact that Jaskier now feels comfortable enough, _safe_ enough, to exploit his gender like this makes Geralt's heart soar.

The room they're shown to is comfortable, a little cramped with the lower than normal ceiling, to create the illusion of a proper den. Judging by the happy noise Jaskier makes upon seeing it, he's more than satisfied with it. The innkeeper provides food and drink and hands Geralt the key, and leaves with a wistful smile after Jaskier has winked at him.

"You're a fucking tease," Geralt says good-naturedly as he sheds his armour, and Jaskier hums, smiling.

"Am I?"

Jaskier is done earlier with his clothes, and he starts building the nest out of the provided blankets and pillows. It's much more elaborate than the one the Witchers had built for him, and Geralt stops for a moment to watch.

"My mother taught me," Jaskier says quietly as he arranges a pillow just so. "Before she died."

"You've never spoken of her."

Jaskier's smile is bittersweet. "It was a long time ago. She got very ill, and then she was gone." He shrugs. "She was a good woman."

They spend half a day just lazing about, Geralt telling him about some of his more memorable hunts as Jaskier takes sloppy notes Geralt isn't sure he'll be able to decipher later. Then again, the bard had once scribbled down an idea literally _while Geralt was fucking him_ , so what does the Witcher know.

Jaskier is nervous, he can tell, scared that he'll be as unhinged as the last time. "That was different," Geralt tries to reassure him. "Your body tried to make up for lost time. That won't happen now." Jaskier huffs and snuggles closer.

The first proper rush of pheromones comes just after sunset, and Geralt tugs him up to straddle his face. Jaskier mewls and presses against him, his slick already running down his thighs, and Geralt goes to work.

This time the build-up is slower, gentler, and by the time Jaskier tells - _tells_ , not begs - Geralt to fuck him, it's already been hours. He crawls into the Witcher's lap and sinks down onto his cock with a happy sigh, and Geralt is amazed by just how different this is from the first time.

"Fuck, Geralt, I love you so much," Jaskier murmurs, the chain around his neck rattling softly as he moves, and Geralt slides his hands to his waist, just loosely holding on to the omega.

"I love you, too, Jask," he replies, and Jaskier's smile is soft, even as he moves faster, as he pushes down further. His knot hasn't swelled yet, not fully anyway, and Jaskier laces their fingers together and sinks down until they're flush.

"Come on, alpha," he breathes, head loose and his eyes shut, "fuck your knot into me," and Geralt can't deny him anything.

Things get more intense after the first knot, but it's still a far cry from the last time. There is urgency, but no desperation, and Jaskier smells of nothing but lust and _joy_ the entire time. It soothes an ache in Geralt's chest he wasn't even aware of, and when they're lying side by side in the nest on the third day, he nips softly at Jaskier's shoulder and says, "Marry me."

Jaskier smiles.

* * *

Geralt writes ahead, and Vesemir meets them in one of the bigger villages at the foot of the Blue Mountains. His eyes are softer than Geralt has ever seen before when he pulls Jaskier into an embrace, and the way he squeezes Geralt's arm carries a peculiar weight.

"There's a temple of Melitele to the east. I've placed notices in the region, the others will see them."

They've been at the temple three days when the relative silence is disturbed by a thundering of hooves outside, and then someone yells, " _Jaskier_ ," across the courtyard, ignoring the admonishment from the priestesses. Jaskier nearly flies down the steps to meet Lambert, who looks relieved to see Jaskier whole and healthy. "What's going on, did something happen-"

Geralt follows at a more sedate pace, peeling Lambert's arms off of Jaskier. His brother's lip curls for a moment but then he lets go, and Geralt hums. "We're getting married."

Lambert stares. Then he looks at Jaskier. Back at Geralt. "What the _fuck_ does _that_ mean," he finally screams, and Jaskier collapses into helpless giggles.

Eskel arrives a day later, not quite as panicked but also clearly agitated. This time they're already outside, Jaskier cradled against Geralt's side and Lambert with his head in the omega's lap, and that's how Eskel finds them.

"What the fuck," he says as he slides off of Scorpion's back, and Lambert cackles from his spot in Jaskier's lap, earning himself a slap to said head.

"We wanted you all here with us," Jaskier says softly, and some of the tension drains out of Eskel.

"What for?"

"Pretty boy's getting hitched," Lambert supplies helpfully, and Geralt ducks his head just a little.

They're wed inside the temple, just Jaskier and the wolves present, and it's as close to perfect as Geralt could imagine. Jaskier had bought them both fancy outfits for the occasion, things he had kept hidden from Geralt until now. His is - thankfully - dark, a blue so dark it's nearly black, with few embellishments.

Jaskier's is golden.

"Like your eyes," he tells Geralt later, breathlessly, after the ceremony when Geralt presses him against the door of their room.

They go up to Kaer Morhen together, all five of them, and the mountains echo with the sound of his husband's music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier's jewelry is based loosely on [this](https://www.etsy.com/listing/517687756/cadet?ref=shop_home_active_5) and very much [this absolutely gorgeous drawing by Kas](https://twitter.com/WolfKarasu/status/1332155797866995712?s=19).
> 
> * * *
> 
> ... I can't believe it's over.
> 
> When I started writing this, I had no idea where I wanted to go with it. I had some vague ideas but I never thought this was where we'd end up, 47k words later, with over 1.3k kudos and over 600 subscribers. I'm just constantly baffled. This is the biggest thing I've written in a long, long time.
> 
> I want to thank all of you from the bottom of my heart. The response to this has truly blown me away, and I don't have the words to express my gratitude. Just... thank you.
> 
> Also, who'd have thunk that my "magnum opus" would be a Geraskier A/B/O sex slave fic. 🙃

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/formerly_as_g?s=09)!


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